He   2 comments

He ran plays in a mind
still insecure
He wore with grace
the less generous
thoughts of others,
yet not by hand
Heart breaks
The years had passed
but even now
he felt still haunted
He cried
when memories
searched for reason
He saw within his life
an absence,
a need
He had tripped
no light fantastic
The beautiful times
had belonged to the
beautiful people
He was not one of them
Life deals a hand to all
He knew
Fatalist
He accepted
He …
he …
He wakes and drives
himself to drudgery
He will be
he

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Posted 19/11/2012 by DarKarsean in Musing, poem, poetry, Uncategorized

2 responses to “He

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  1. We are all on the edge…I loath the thought of drudgery. But sometimes, that is all there is. Dealing with it is probably what inspires us to write. Another well-expressed and quirky verse.

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