Falling

I fell into a dream
not mine
and refused
to wake upon
the beckoning
of dawn.

Outside a
cathedral I hid
amongst the
passions and
fleeting
sensualities.

Popes and
kings still
struck me odd,
screaming
for favor from
subjects, even God.

Most peculiar are
the robin songs
somewhere above
I would choose
to forget, but they
sing loud of love,

some of friendship
but in real
Shakespearean
worlds, such
pass away.

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