'All pasts are like poems; one can derive a thousand things, but not live in them' John Fowles

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

Whatever

The pages fly like
there's no tomorrow.
Endless words, meaningless
Empty and Contrived.

How I wished
there really was no tomorrow.
For the revelry I so desire
Untainted and Intact.

But Reality scaths me
where it hurts the most.
Tomorrow will dawn
Indiscriminately

Even so I will push on
Till Tomorrow ceases to come.

1 Comments:

Blogger ekku said...

wow, didn't know that you liked poems. do you know marie matteucci? she's a poet, one of her works is called Anachronism, i think...

i linked you to my blog at http://hanaatsajc.blogdrive.com, u mind?

2:24 PM

 

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