Sunday, 12 December 2010

False Hope

Orange laps at the gold-plated stand, cautiously.
It seems to have repeated an unnecessary swim to shore.
The moment when land appears in the mind's eye,
Mirrors the beaches of a memory, dream or wish.
Then, hesitantly and awfully regrettably it ducks underwater.
Rather sleep with the fishes then look at me.
Fire laps around the logs like a frivolous sea.

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