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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A new piece, profound recognition.

Submitted: November 24, 2011

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Submitted: November 24, 2011



I sit under dim lit ideas, I dream of your touch, your hands in wishful sequence.
I juggle thoughts facing them at alas not in fear, but instead to ascend beyond it in its most juvenile form.
To live there amongst the darkness would take the breath out of life and instill that of hope, leaving a chance of failure.
Many thirsts have darkened my veins through times looped difference, now I await what is next to experience, and hope it brings me beyond the tight rope walk poems that leave from movement of hand into movement of faith, and deliver me unto action.
You dream unaware of the nights current.
I sit and listen to the gales of dreams that fail to become a whisper.
They touch your silken face, embrace your form too silent to justify its existence.
I hear the love between the bow of the cupids parting lips.
For I know its wait...wading through earthly guise, twirling pen in hand in attempted expression of soul into words.
Like flame flickering to survive the night its hope only in the support of its wavering companion.
Alas, there is but nothing one can do, but wait. Shivering in depths of winter, the icy tendrils still reminds and allows you to feel life twirling on finger tipped breath.
It's known you blame me for your sickness, I understand..
The wave of twilight wishing you the sweetest dreams.
Life awaits us all to wake into the dream of life.
Till the dawn comes you are here perhaps alone, or in ignorance.
We die alone but we live amongst men.
Shallow tide washes faith in and out of reason.
Lay alone in drapery, the need of sleep slowly vanishes with the summer heat.
The air is thick, swallowing the sun and run to arrive nowhere.
Falter, you're afraid to step into the abyssal winds of tomorrow.
My eyes glisten, I am passed from hopes to dreams once more, hold me love before the dreamer wakes. Fayt.

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