cave as often left before.
The yearly trip to despondency with
return, pure and enlivened.
Distending hoarseness, my insides out
scratched, weary, no comfort.
Time for a change, dropping clear and
refreshing, growing forth the
living inspiration left for months leaning
against the dark cave door.
The lingering aphotic drab has shaded
engrossing vibrant growth.
Seeing flourishing infancy, and abandoned
art under dawning hands.
Precipitate and return my downstream flow
of idealism, for now I see
the beauty in hibernation.
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