My soul took flight where sullen vapors cling,
To beg the stars for truth they would not bring.
I sang, a bird adrift in skyless gray,
Pursuing hope that fled the break of day.
I sang as one who tastes the bloom then thorn,
Who wakes to find the grace of beauty shorn.
I drank from light—a draught that burned my chest,
And made the mountain reel upon its crest.
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