Friday, March 24, 2006

More Than You've Known

I don't write
But I write for you
This cozy little dismal narative
Colidescope of burnt out truths
I don't write
But I'll see you soon

I don't sing
Like I did before
For the choir's unattentively
Wrapped in old Metaphors
I don't sing
But I'll sing once more

Locked inside her hours
Painted faces like clocks
Standing there shaken
Cast upon the rocks
Silenced by visions
What cannot be, is set
The only reality I'm facing
Hasn't even happened yet

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