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Barren souls, most dead or dying, fallen from the moon;
souls that lost their gift of flying dance without a tune.
Fervor left their weary minds, and winds have ceased to blow
causing roses that are buried to be bound henceforth by snow.
Lost, they sit alone and dream of some things worse than dying;
lonely life is filled with choices, plagued with endless trying
to be the someone that you weren't. At least that's how it seems
when the someone that there wasn't was the void that filled our dreams.
Happiness was shriveled by the heat of endless days,
leaving callused feet to lose their will and slowly lose their way;
stumbling into every dream, the clouds that cross the sun,
just searching for a light to lead them home. Their work is done.
© 2013 Nicholas Emeigh
Read by the Author
Part of the Playlist "The Poetry of Nicholas Emeigh" which includes 40+ other poems.
Notes: This poem was written in 1998 - one of the first I ever wrote - and was posted to the web on January 29, 2007.
The unique works displayed on the pages herein are © 1997-2013 Nicholas Emeigh. Use is restricted.
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