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In the dim-lit streets of the job market’s sprawl,I, the weary seeker, tread with a hollow call.Resumes echoe in the cold lifeless air,Where the ceaseless hunt is a lifeless affair. The interview room is a daunting space,Echoeing with questions, a stinging embrace.The sterile queries forms a relentless parade,My dreams crumble in this judgmental cascade. The
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Beneath shadow’s tender grasp, I stand undone,A tombstone whispers secrets etched in stone.Contemplating fate in hues of twilight’s breath,I ponder silently, dancing with looming death. How will I be etched in memory’s clay?Life’s great mosaic, for the light of day.Shall I be the echo of laughter’s sweet refrain,Or a sombre note, stained with unspoken pain?
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In the amber grasp of Autumn’s hand,When leaves like whispers softly land,A tapestry of gold and red,This season’s song is by nature led. The sun retreats with fleeting grace,Shorter days left to embrace,A symphony of twilight’s call,As dusk descends, and shadows sprawl. The air grows crisp in sharp breath,The herald of impending death,Yet, in the
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In the hush before creation’s first breath,‘Twas dawn of time, a void most deathly.Silent echoes of cosmic rhyme,Within a realm untouched by time. From the shadows of eternal night,Emerged a flicker, a glimmer of light.Death’s cold grasp partially unwound,Birth’s first whispers, a cycle defined. Beneath the moon’s soft silver sheen,The silence lingers of a cosmic
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In seas afar, where the wild winds blow,A fisherman sails through ebbs and flows.The creak of the timbers, the spray in the air,He battles the elements, a life most unfair. Loneliness whispers through the crashing waves,Broken by ‘gulls crying from their oceanic caves.The vastness around him, his silent despair,Steers through the solitude, a man without
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In the abyss of father time,Where echoes weave a haunting chime,A soul embarks on a quest unknown,Ten thousand hours of skills to hone. Through the abyss of the midnight air,A lone artisan is burdened by care,Fingers dance with spectral grace,A pact with mastery met in eerie embrace. In the crucible of the ceaseless grind,A symphony
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In the heart of Sunday we slumber,After toiling through the week,The worker seeks a tranquil bed,Where dreams are soft and sweet. Beneath the eucalyptus branches,With a breeze that whispers ease,Lies a soul in peaceful respite,From the toil that doesn’t cease. No more the grind of labour,No more the boss’s frown,From Saturday’s eve, the worker rests,
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In chambers bright, where laughter sways,A game unfolds in childish daze,A perilous dance in furniture led sky,The floor, a fiery sea, flows high. Child’s wit like lava’s flow,Their tongue as sharp as flames that glow,Yet in this game of youthful glee,We’ll find a jest, you’ll agree. Oh, the floor is lava, a whimsical tide,Imagination’s fiery
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Effervescent dance,Bubbles rise in liquid joy,Sips of sparkling trance
