Monsters Iii

Morning is never coming
for we live in the dark,
and hands touch with false hope
that tomorrow we will not bear the mark;
for the hand that touches
is cold sharp and gray
and blinds us from morning,
bleeding us away.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2009

Poem

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Shango Avatar
May 15, 2009 at 7:34 AM
My friend this is another great write, you have heard the pied pipers music too ... and your metaphors are piped syllables in forests of imagery where children are dancing away. It takes great courage to write above platitude. Hot!
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