I try to run away
and hide
and sleep to escape
Ignorant of the fact
that pain is often a seed
And while you think
it lays dormant
buried under heaps of sleep
And the night you fancy
Is a knight that fights for you
Slays your demons
and the unborn grieves
Frees your soul
for the day that is to come
But the pain is often the seed,
that lays buried
And the night
salubrious, nourishing 
And sleep, 
a fertile land 
And when you awake
groping for strength 
Looking away,
hoping the pain
would soon decay
The seed sprouts 
with tiny green leaves 




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