Friday, October 20, 2006
My night-time dreams, an off-worldly spectator might consider, are always of some ineffective hope - a desperate journey or striving left unsatisfied by the unforgiving realisation of dawn.
I feel perhaps these are the dreams of all young men freshly removed from the turnstiles of education, and that the pink deep clouds of comforting solace belong to an era forever past.
O! to sleep idly within a cot of feathers, than to brave the staircase that may lead to a bedroom of thorns.
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