Saturday, November 5, 2011

The Poem With No Title

Whenever I'm here,
Some things are not,
Do you hear the laughter?
Perhaps the storm should be softer,
The fire opens the mind,
The visuals may only be on the inside.

Sandpaper smooths the cracks,
My eyes corrodes the fields,
Are the reflections telling me lies?
Who am I to say?
I stand by the rocks of the seas,
Looking beyond the horizon.

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