Me

Me
So happy

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Thus she spoke

In the waking moments of slumbering nights,
I hear her whisper-
The sounds of silhouettes,
Like puppets at the gallows.
 I can't help but listen-
Violins screaming against strained strings;
 I walk the fallow fields of the streets she
Created, sketched in recycled books,
Newspaper and receipts of faded memory-
At the expiry of an inebriated evening.
I toast an empty glass to
 The dead stars and their forgetful light
And begin to dream again.






***original poem, created by Cameron Morgan. Copyright 2014. ***

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