With Dreams Asunder
No promises of a new land
settled deep beneath my skin.
I wear the suit of convention
apprehension and convulsions.
I twist with the serpent
settled just beneath my sins.
I learn for the last time,
to speak for the first time.
With dreams asunder,
we start to wonder
what stars are made from.
Now we know, despite all
the fabrications, they are
just fiery gaseous balls.
I learn for the last time,
to speak for the first time.
Why do I feel so empty?
The End
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
With Dreams Asunder, which
was posted on Oct 5, 2010 by
PaulMacklin.
This is a solo poem.
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Abstract
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