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In the Morning After

In the morning after, soft light disappears.

Here in this cocoon, all we seek is laughter.

In this delicate mending of different threads.

We fold till no cloth is left,

We write till no more words make sense.

And in the burden of those heavy stories,

Makes the children of tomorrow weep.

We seek salvation in pages of words that disappear in blank pulp and hard spines.

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