Open Poetry #39 |
Were the Dreams are Coming From |
themute Member
since 2006-05-08
Posts 469Maryland |
Where are you, a silver-tong babe? The hours grow shorter while waiting. I have nothing special to remember; No vacations from them all, No conversing by the well lit mire, Not a single kiss with her, Not a seconds musing by the fire. Sitting in a chair, writing, writing, What poems I will forget the words to On the morrow, where tears will furrow, Ne’er to cry and ne’er to borrow Remembered dream-days formed in hollow, Soaked in blood and tears and sorrow. I am the two-toed wanderer [This message has been edited by themute (11-10-2006 10:47 PM).] |
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© Copyright 2006 Matthew Patrick Holbert - All Rights Reserved | |||
Enchantress Member Empyrean
since 2001-08-14
Posts 35113Canada eh. |
Such a sad ache to this piece Matthew. Hope you had a good birthday! Autumn, the year's last loveliest smile~ |
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themute Member
since 2006-05-08
Posts 469Maryland |
I don't know how I feel, life is most strange now a days. Thank you, I'm finally 18, though to some I'm still a child and too some still I am no one. I am the two-toed wanderer |
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