The tree at midnight towers over me as
I search for the light that
I have since neglected.
For a cloudy mind does not see; it does not decipher
What has been written.
It cannot detect the ruinous effect brought on by that which you inject
into your brain;
it will let burn
the passion
that was once dressed in a fashion
suited for only you.
But that which is real
what is tangible
what I can feel
is nestled beneath the willow tree
which does not weep with me.
These are the roots that clutch;
These are the branches that touch
What seems to be the light above.
I will follow them and
Ignite
what has since burnt out
While I was
Lost in the darkest of nights.
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