It was night
The man Came
with a lamp
And deemed it the truth.
And it was Glaring and gladdening
Satisfied he roosted.
Rousing by morning
He sought his own light
But there it was
flames shimmering
But subsumed by the brightness
Of the day
He was agitated
And pondered where cometh another truth
But you cant search
For the ever present
That which you must invent
Is a subscription
Photocredit; susana saldivar
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