An original poem:
Spun around in my way
In a world pude and grey.
Woven deeply like a sore
A fork in the clearing
A shaded dusk like none others seen,
Finely shaded and molded green.
Forest on fire like a funeral parlor,
Death unbecoming like a doornail splitting.
A spitting image of your childhood
comes to graces.
A million towns, A million faces
A facade you're unaware of
Later becomes so repetitive,
And you see this repetition
Day in and day out
Find no meaning,
A memory you're asked to retrace.
One of which you have no recollection
Yet you've been to certain places before
Certain people you've met,
and can't reason why.
The time shrivels and passes you by.
You're still unaware that of that facade,
it never crosses your egotistical mind
That before you've lived this life
You've also lived mine.
Created: Feb 07, 2011Babbish Document Media