Reality Dawns

May 12, 2009
Atop the sloping hill,
We know it's much too late,
Waiting as the changing tide determines our flailing fate.

Clouds above separate,
As angels go their separate ways,
Here on Earth all is still,
Grass like sea-green lace and twill.

A butterfly,
My outstretched hand,
Your skin on mine,
Rough like sand.

The timid storm is rolling in,
We're thinking of what could have been.

Fake a smile,
'Cuz he's so sure,
Curtains drawn on what we were.

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supergrrrl_4808 said...
Jun. 1, 2009 at 11:57 pm
wow. your really good with adjectives:)
you have so much talent. lol that was corny;)
love it.
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