Justine Knolle

Death of a Dream

As dark clouds cross
Your brow, and
Your flashing copper eyes,
I awake.
Startled.
And realise,
As the night gently dies,
It’s not my dream that has died.
It is me.
Myself.
Inside.
Ripped open,
Torn apart,
They have removed
My beaten heart.
Leaving behind
A gaping hole,
Where once sparked
My twinning soul.
 
Sunday, 1 October 2006

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Justine Knolle.
Published on e-Stories.org on 02.10.2006.

 
 

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