A dream, a sentience,
where lies the difference?
A thought that can't be killed
Autumn leaves frailty, falling.
Mist that's clearer,
clearer than thoughts..
Unmarked roads going places.
Marked roads leading dead ends.
Ends, dead ends of thoughts, of ideas, of creation.
A tune that shall remain unsung.
A stream of consciousness that's
moving all wrong...
Raindrops of cretinism penetrating delicate clouds of hopefulness.
Alas! eyes wide open, with intellect deep in sleep.
An awakening that weaker than slumber.
Eensy cracks, that blocks sweet odours of blithe.
Yet large enough to let pass,
essence that was once foundation of beliefs.
Beliefs that shouldn't have existed.
And this bleak literature titled 'Conscience' ;
Light as feather.
But heavier is the next page
which I can't lift,
titled ' secrets'
Flabbergasted witn these thoughts...
A life with secrets .
Undisclosed, unrevealed, untouched.
So it shall remain.
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