The Study

There is a place I like to dwell, deep within my mind

A reflection of myself in a room from distant times

Walls lined with weathered books of dark, romantic verse

Curtains always tightly drawn

The sun is my one curse

Thirsting ever for more oil, a lamp burns on the desk

All is dark and silent only when I rest my pen

No bed do I keep, for sleep is truly sacred

I prefer the cold, hard floor

Less likely to be tainted

Stained by bitter passion

Memories are swept away by the coming and the passing

Nothing’s lasting in the study of my mind

Everything in this dim light can play tricks on the eye

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