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Blind Stars

He looked up at the stars,And noticed a shiny one .Staring , gazing mislaying his scars,Making him feel like he had none.Contemplating, he told himself,To lie there quiet and still .For it was as though time itself,Had ceased without its will.Hearing his heartbeat pace,A million thoughts began to race .His brain felt heavy,His soul quite weary.Never had he felt so free,And looked once again at the sky to see.Whether it was the moon, Whether the night was closing too soon.His eyes closed, leaving the sky within,But he felt a small sob through him,Length of thought had made him miss,That it was broad daylight and not midnight mist.The blind man lay there ,Feeling the sky.Picturing the stars everywhere,He could let himself cry.And embraced his everlasting darkness,For one last time.Until the brightness from his life,Became a faded rhyme.

                                                                                                                                                                                               – Anonymous

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