Dark Poem

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The mug sits on the table, a simple

Little thing; the book glistens, bleeding through

The narrow corners of sight; a twinkle

Forms towards my left, and there, good Aunt Sue. 

Who are you to say, “monster,” to my soul;

Glass pane, so cutely staring at my face.

Who are you to tell me that I am foul?

The brows rise very slightly in disgrace.

“Know thyself before talk,” says the Demon;

I saw the light bulb, blinded by wisdom.

“Know thy heart before stop,” says the Reason;

I saw Light, not blinded, not boredom.

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