Friday, 20 November 2009

Something old out of the journal.

In the shadows of our minds

Lays a delerium

We run screaming from our problems

Which are like heavy footed rumplestiltskins


Do we conjure hope in our wakening

For brighter sun?

Or a new scapegoat to run with

I'm unsure


We sleep to forget that the walls are caving

Only to wake up crushed, drowned in truth

We are not unseeing

Our eyes are only closed.

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