| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
|
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Arts >> ID #1262592 |
| |||||||||||||
|
A Dying Breed I've been drifting in my disease, the i-pod left behind. I'm basking in the tranquil seas of a verse-infected mind. When all of us have fallen down the fabled rabbit hole, it's Alice watching with a frown when we seem to lose control. But someone wants to tell us how and show us how it's done, they'll have to stop and take a bow before they have to run. I know my motor's running fast with thoughts that come and go. In fantasies where first is last, the motion isn't slow. But as the shadows, long and dark, have left me with their seed, the world is left with one small mark; words of a dying breed. ![]()
© Copyright 2007 T.L.Finch (UN: t.l.finch at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
T.L.Finch has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |