Fickle hopes

Fickle hopes

My lyrics dismantle
On the work-desk
Against the clock’s tick-tock
The pen frisking
Across the bare paper
The lantern hanging low
And a ghastly pallor
Pouring silent gloom
Dissolving into my mind
The cracking glass-panes
Under the times’ banes
Sounds of you
Still in that air
Me still there
Upon that chair
Still collecting shards
Of my broken dreams
Still searching past
In the cold

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