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Click hereThe red of sunrise lies, a bloodied veil,
on long night's stupor. On the smooth canal
the boat lies motionless; nobody stirs
to cast it from its moorings. In the trees
night's silence rests unchallenged. There's no bird
that sings to hail another morning; dense
dull-copper leaves create a tunnel where
the shade of slumber reigns. A shabby dog
lies, head upon its paws, beside the grey
adobe hut, gone grimy through the years
of constant use. The door's ajar. Inside
near-darkness dims the reds and ochres of
old Charon's bedclothes. On the sleepy bank
I contemplate the trip that will release
me from life's mad pursuits and bring me peace.
mining
mining
the same old depths of hell, what new
i think i fived it, shame changed my mind
The red of sunrise lies, a bloodied veil, too stock
as the Joker tells the Batman ; but alas Heath too has crossed this river into the Underworld !