attempt at some self-definition
Drifting lonely as a cloud
of no more stuff than dreams are made of
is the dream of my existence,
floating aimlessly on seas of turbulence
with no more meaning than a passing night
of dreams and of no more than that.
My life and person is a dream that passes on
to change into some other dream perhaps
of no more validity than any dream
of great stuff writ in water
to immediately be forgotten.
Life is perhaps a hangover of some kind
after birth and before death,
the only two events of some significance
to prove the shallowness of your existence -
a most awkward entrance
and an exit into nothing.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2009-01-19 at 14:04
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