Tuesday, October 19, 2010

WILL NEVER FLY

Those wrinkled stages,

Those withered slots

Those plated memories:

Those deliberately unfenced plots.

Those eyes, the shine

as if I am seeing a mime.

The misunderstood faces,

The unstoppable analysing sense’s graces.

Those unwanted hours,

Those burdened days

Those philosophical turns,

Those matured plays.

Those green-phases,

Ready to be mean in the mean

Those ideas flat and lean,

Those flows, I never desired to be seen.

Those drilling moments of sigh,

Gone and spent to come back

Those fake assurances:

Ready to subsist and will never fly.

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