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Dark winds blow, swept across dark skies of indigo night
There is a feeling of impending doom....no control here
Here am I, standing alone, along the precipice of the abyss
Staring long and hard into oblivion's bottomless maw, aghast
Looking for the light, finding none, no succour, no solace
Wondering what Hamlet really meant when he spoke last
His invoking those fateful words...."To be or not to be"
Now here am I, contemplating the meaning of it all at length
Conjuring thoughts of Socrates, Poe, Plath, Van Gogh, et al
Is this the winter of my discontent? What am I to endure?
I stare into yon abyss and take it in, where's the harm?
In truth, what's one more misbegotten life gone to ruin
The thought of eventual demise entreats my dark side
E'er closer to my final answer....one made without Regis
One small step for this man, one final step for my kind
But....on the other hand, do I do this out of sheer apathy?
Or is this possibly just a pathetic attempt at a cry for help
No....this decision must be from the heart of one, defeated
Or more likely, from that of a madman's self-recrimination
Insane, crazed meanderings of an obviously demented mind
Don't we all stand on a precipice of our own personal abyss?
Facing value decisions every day on the fate of our souls
Always asking....to be or not to be? Is THAT the question?!
The dark indigo winds chill me now, I seek warmth of spirit
I stand down my quest for answers, the abyss can again, wait
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