Saturday, March 1, 2014


Eggs of expectation lay disconsolate on mind,
that form of dull desire which had been brought,
with silent peep of trust still hiding behind hope;
so does wanting sit on trial in test so fraught.

The course of high becoming has been stopped,
the moment blown like hyperbolic thought,
and beaten with the stick of cruel reality;
so does fate mug us, bring brutal, make distraught.


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