Thursday, 21 April 2011

Time To Pretened

The watch is broken- the game is up.
Chin up, son,
You have forever to think and no more hearts to break.

Rampantly rolling in my forgotten riches,
Feeling my skin tick-tock,
And watching black hearts sway from the shy sycamore trees-

It's no wonder the world is turning on me.
See the pennies drip drop
Off the top of the mountains masking the realization dawning.

The birds scatter with morning first light,
Fly as far as possible away
From the curtain of torrential rain cleaning out the echoes of pain.

With the first fall of leaves and tears
That you've grown, I'll slip
Underground as my blood turns to stone, become a whisper of years

Left all alone.

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