Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Waking Dreamer

Poetry isn't really my thing, but every now and again I get the urge.


Life is ever changing.
Memories rot in copper caskets,
buried in oblivion.

The heart thumps a rhythm,
making blood sing,
as the body sways.

Time slips and falls,
its face a jagged mirror,
reflecting broken sentiments.

Covet it in your box,
of shattered, broken dreams.
Your living graveyard.

Happiness born in a moment,
dies in an instant

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