Questing

Dreaming the Impossible Dream since 1997

Depression

November30

Hovering on the edge of despair

lying at the edge of a dull silver sky

tenderly cradling the dark blue sea of grain

locking the box of sentient care



the words of my past

haunt me as I glisten

from the water that pelts, but

who will i ever be at last



the mindthroat I posses

silently screams

like a shade puppet

in the dusk of unkind

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