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transluscent – poem

June 29, 2013

what if
there’s nothing left to be given?
every good thing squandered
scrambling after dreams
that retreated each dawn to
shadowy filament,
morning’s uncertain memory
an opaque bubble, that like me
never contained anything at all.


From → poetry

  1. What if…it is like that?

  2. Interesting poem! I never thought of you as like an opaque bubble? Hugs!

    • thanks Resa — I suppose that’s always a fear, we are less on the inside than we pretend to be on the outside.

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