What was it in my dreaming
Seeing
Farewells final; waving hands
Weaving
The motions of black and white film grain meander
The entities of my soul become indicators of my beings
Why so many?
I wonder are broken hearts bleeding
Leaking memories of times we forgot
A broken hourglass our clock
Losing time
And all that I’ve got
The afterthought of what now is not
© The Sad Owl
Categories: poetry
The Sad Owl
I'm just here. Until I'm not.
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