Wednesday, March 09, 2011

To All Those Dreams That Never Made It

I used to think in clouds of watercolour
At night my mind would race
In pastels on a damp, white, hopeful canvas
But now when I go to pour the paint, it's dry
When a dream grows up, it dies.

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After a busy day when confronting admin

 We must all come  Find ourselves And we will all be found Regardless  As the sun finds the morning As breath finds the lungs As I am found ...