I have no rhythm
My muse has deserted me,My reverie is but a vestige,
It once was a place of creation.
My niche is of ancient Egyptian architecture,
Haunted and spooky,
Empty.
The strings of my harp are but loose,
The pianist is intoxicated,
Demented,
Decapitated.
I am but just living,
I have no rhythm.
Poetry by Advice
Read 742 times
Written on 2011-08-25 at 18:19




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