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2/26/2011

We are fragile, fleeting collisions
much like dovewings tripping.

Accellerating intake,
burdening under the endless snows
of apathy.

We don't mean anything, do we?
Incandescent fades,
finger by finger disappearences.
I am the invisible outline of what was
and has been.

Call me wind and rain,
instilled in the atmosphere,
uneffected by the pressures.

I am a corporeal mass
envisioned but never seen.
I am made simply of dew drops
water vaporously mean.

2 comments:

haze said...

the invisible outline of what was
and has been...


ever, this is beautiful as always... i always love reading your poems.

Ever said...

Thank you dear haze :) your blog is so lovely, I'm sorry that I don't get a chance to comment much, I am always reading though. Xxx