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Rated: E · Poetry · Psychology · #1955040
A man's perspective is a distorted thing.
In the cabin, I am alone.
But I feel that I am not sane, for where the corners light does not seem to reach, lurks a shadow.
A shadow that is not native of this world.
A shadow whose features are not unlike of my own.
This shadow seeks to sway me, saying that “I should rage against the dying of the light”.
I grew fearful of the shadow, and thus I ignored his heed, for I will not submit to the shadow willingly.
And found more comfort from the light emanating from the door
The shadow lashed out violently refusing to admit defeat.
I walk with long strides towards the light.
The shadow latches onto me with the grip of a fell beast.
I will not stray from the path that has been laid out before me, and walked on with the pain.
I felt the warm embrace, and was removed the burdens of life.
But as I took that step, and finally removing the shackles that bind me.
I took one last glance of the shadow that sought to stop to me.
The shadow’s visage was calm, but with a sad demeanor.
His voice, remarkably divine, said “You’ll never make it without me"
And at that moment, I realized my last mistake.
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