For some reason, I've always been afraid of living a prosaic life. Things that "normal" people do bores the fill in the blank out of me. Now that I'm being shoved into reality I feel like I've been buried alive. Who would have thought the poetic life exists only in poems and not in real life? 
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Psalm 8
3When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;
4What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
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