Most of the people in my story
Have disappeared
into a far away mist
There are only a few I can say
I genuinely miss.
One in particular
That I wouldn't if I could
Because altho paradise has faded
She is the thing which made paradise good.
Decades have passed and I still
drag my cross
Thru the quicksand
Dreaming of when it was held high
in the clear sky
By Wendy Ann
Too many people invited into our life
Took away what life is
Too many people hearing too many secrets
To socialise with
Too many displays of vulnerabilities
(Or is that too many self-protecting excuses?)
Most of my life I've pretended to accept things
\but memories hold too many tombs
Of relationships blending over
To loss of dreams.
I'll never return to Utopia
However, I experienced it so intimately
I can rotate fiction to fact
But I wouldn't believe that
If a miserable monument of pain
Sold me it.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
Most of the people in my story
Have disappeared
into a far away mist
There are only a few I can say
I genuinely miss.
One in particular
That I wouldn't if I could
Because altho paradise has faded
She is the thing which made paradise good.
Decades have passed and I still
drag my cross
Thru the quicksand
Dreaming of when it was held high
in the clear sky
By Wendy Ann
Too many people invited into our life
Took away what life is
Too many people hearing too many secrets
To socialise with
Too many displays of vulnerabilities
(Or is that too many self-protecting excuses?)
Most of my life I've pretended to accept things
\but memories hold too many tombs
Of relationships blending over
To loss of dreams.
I'll never return to Utopia
However, I experienced it so intimately
I can rotate fiction to fact
But I wouldn't believe that
If a miserable monument of pain
Sold me it.
