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

Sunday, September 05, 2004

d.r.e.a.r.y

The dreary day got to me,
with droopy clouds and a drizzling rain
and so I was sad to see
the rays of the sun as it wanes.
The birds chirrup away,
in sudden bursts of noises
willing Cheer to come out and play.
But it has disintegrated, into mere nothingness.
Then the cars zoomed this way and that,
mindless in a never-ending race;
competing at the drop of a hat
to emerge winner in contrived Grace.
And it is just as well
that I'm smothered by Boredom,
because I just cannot tell
the difference between reality and my kingdom.





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