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H. Ray Davis

The Night

Words can seldom define the feelings before sunrise. The mind is a tomb of forgotten pain and pleasure  often buried or fortified beyond our reach. Long nights spent kicking the very covers that hold warmth give way to quiet utterance only whispered in the dark, the sum of your misery reduced to a mere sentence. Solitude has been a kind companion. My mind is a wasteland filled with far too many graves.

 

H.R. Davis