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sleepyheaven

of old regrets
the tired tell –
and spin their stories over
whittled now the cedar
to the bone
liars lean
into the night –
seeking home in shadows
dreamers dream
and crush their way
to dawn

of sorrows here
the past is torn –
a breath before the breaking
assurance of the places
we begin
as first the whisper falters –
an echo shall become
crossed as stars
the night –
to burn again

. . .