The second hand was dying. . .
Or so I thought to be.
The world was on a stand-still,
Nightmares won't set me free
Light crept along the border
And just within times reach-
My hand cast out few hopes
To an ever-ebbing beach
Yet patience is a virtue
Time has yet to learn.
Pulling tricks upon your mind
Find quite hard to discern
So quietly, just wait for it
And foretell this if you must,
But unattained triumph
Is a thing you shouldn't trust
For now with every thought
And each new foggy dream. . .
You might discover, that
Hope is not what it may seem.
any ideas for a title/what do you think??? =]thanks.
2007-08-13
14:28:45
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4 answers
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asked by
Em
2
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry