Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2010
The boundaries between dreams
are made up of the finest strands
of silk and carelessness.
One tends to flow into the next,
without elegance.
Without pause.
Without apology.
Someone told me that
life was like that.
I don't remember who,
and perhaps that says all
that needs to be said
about my opinion on
the matter.
Written by
Paul Glottaman
550
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems