A date has been set within my mind.
Exhibit, in writing, an end to this gloom.
However, I lead forth with necessitation, not appetite.
Apprehension and suspicion,
I require beatitude be prescribed.
I beseech of the viewer, an end to this deference of life.
A light at the end of the tunnel, perhaps?
I expect that I am to become snowblind with such light though.
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