Sleeping Awake
EVEN as the bleak fields burn,
even as my Soul alone sings;
The feeling of living brings
solace for the poor minds
of my private brain.
AND the memories (the memories)
of many a days that never existed
now wander through the land;
Time a hand, my own lily white
and nowhere to Scream to Scream,
"I am not from here or this Land!"
no gloom
no doom
no room
to die!
:: 01-30-2017 ::
Copyright © Ernest Robles | Year Posted 2017
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