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Rated: E · Poetry · Arts · #1262592
About poetry and the muse

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.

Signature created for me by Hanna
© Copyright 2007 T.L.Finch (t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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