Sunrise,
convictions withheld for another day.
A prisoner of my very own red eyed utopia.
I wonder, what keeps a man, this man, coming back,
to these wee moments of the morning?
Hour upon hour, coffee upon coffee
This familiar late-night game, again I have played,
all within the confines of a fragile me.
Oh, behold the waking hour my dear,
and how it prays a hopeful prayer for our tomorrow,
"It is truth I shall find in sleep,
For it is lies I must face when I awake."
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