Friday, November 8, 2013

It all looks like its past.

It all looks like its past.

Although the evening 
still struggles to snug
into the night 
by my bed side and 
I have still not had a wink 
it seems to be all past.

The dawn smears 
my face with breeze and 
light glides in a playful frenzy 
to brace the palpitations 
of my breath and soothe the 
drudgery of my limited Self.

Even I am past
All years succumb into 
the illusive loneliness that
wash my days while I seek
the strength to walk
past the passing.


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