I walk the empty halls at night alone
In search of ghosts that haunt my restless sleep.
Ten thousand nights, ten thousand walks, but none
Bring peaceful rest. So late at night I creep
Around the house, and search for words to write
Into verses. It’s years now, as my brain
Goes round in circles looking for the light
Ahead that isn’t an onrushing train.
It ever seems that all the good things flee
As quickly as they come–no way to live.
It’s hard to explain–no one else can see
The pressure pushing out. I daily give
The best of me; it’s all that I can do,
Though every day’s a struggle to get through.

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