As I sit down to write on this blank page,
My tired body, restless heart, and numb mind employ,
A space to speak freely, without fear or gauge.
But the chasm between my heart and the paper,
Leaves me searching for another remedy or redeemer,
As words can't fill the void, a silence I must enjoy.
I want to write of days with overcast skies,
A weight heavy and invisible, a burden no one else conveys,
But maybe today, I'll choose to rest and not to explore.
Possibility, a word that offers hope and light,
Yet, it's synonymous with fear, what-ifs, and terror,
A never-ending loop, a spiral that takes flight.
Some days, it wears you out, the misery you think about,
Digesting it slowly, hoping for a better pull,
Life is an endless cycle of hope, a push and pull.
In the morning, like a valiant soldier, we march on,
Hope programmed into our soul, a rhythmical song,
But sometimes, the bleakness peeks out, and we feel incomplete.

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