Reason is a failure this time.
And this is but a smeared fingerprint
Upon the elucidated glass.
I am but a frosted breath
On the windowpane.
Just another dawn
In the myriad.
It's not like this hasn't been done before.
Proclaim such greatness.
How great is this dawn.
Just one in the myriad.
Just one in the myriad of mirages.
1 comment:
With every poem written, there is growth. In this growth, the simplest images, are the most beautiful manifestations of the un-understood(?).
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