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A collection of poetry dealing with getting over the past and a hope of a better tomorrow. |
this skeleton is what remains of the man that lived in shame. misery is tough to swallow, it overflows and spills like rain. on the inside he's still hollow, but the goblet remains dry. thinking back to all the time that he had spent, hardened palms, but never saved a cent, and precious friendships are long gone. never had a chance to say the words he meant. yet still the world goes on, but the goblet remains dry. thinking back to how she gleefully would step on leaves and how she breathed love into his lungs, happily, with innocence, like when a body pillow divided them. remembering how her gentle touch would bring reprieve and to this day he still craves those arms again, but the goblet remains dry. no sweet goodnights, no kiss hello. what warmth is left is a black pea-coat lined in red, old love's embrace. he fools himself, still clings to hope prays for wings to reach for grace, but the goblet remains dry. dry as the air he must endure. black sand exists on different shores, where skies ignite with lights above. remembering nights, replays the score, the mirror shows the undreamed of, but the goblet remains dry. -m.m. Morris |