A deep longing overcomes you,
a melancholic tune which
repeats itself in your head.
A desire so powerful,
infinite,
dark as a black well,
a black tunnel
with a pinprick of light.
That tiny star reflected
in your eyes;
an abyss of despair.
The star remains thus,
finer than the tip of a needle,
just enough to keep one strongly within it’s grasp,
trudging blindly in the dark,
stumbling forward,
in hope of embracing it.
Yet a point of light it shall ever be,
a symbol of continuous failure,
past,
present,
and forever more.
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