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the dreams are forgotten quickly no longer a source of interest of mystery or even sadness they are simply accepted and left to vanquish into the ether the years the words the search for fire in a dormant soul the light is flickering the voice is quieting the vision of a kindred spirit is all but blind hope the poet in me meanders alone in his thoughts that are short and void of secrets he no longer hears the call no longer seeks the path to discovering the perfectly articulated thought
0
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 4:19 PM UTC
the poet in me
the dreams are forgotten quickly no longer a source of interest of mystery or even sadness they are simply accepted and left to vanquish into the ether the years the words the search for fire in a dormant soul the light is flickering the voice is quieting the vision of a kindred spirit is all but blind hope the poet in me meanders alone in his thoughts that are short and void of secrets he no longer hears the call no longer seeks the path to discovering the perfectly articulated thought
cant think of any
RoyDeckard
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Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 4:19 PM UTC
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