Quills in the Cracks
My thoughts meander
over Silver trails
left by bleary ambition.
Without a harvest,
I squash them.
They become distorted,
almost flatlined
into thoughtlessness
until they become the quills
in the remaining cracks of memory.
Hopeful bones of destiny
are riding upon a symphony of egos
as I look for the Sparkle in a Song
that kindles
the embrace
of new worlds.
Poetry by melanie sue
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Written on 2010-08-06 at 00:49
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