Lost Sense

Out of the night
here comes Sunday morning like a remedy for dark times.
I wake up alone
longing for a touch of love and the scent of fresh air.
As winter looms closer
I see nothing but grey/blue sky
and hear foolishness echoing all around.
Amongst the chaos
leaves and snowflakes fall gracefully without a sound.
When trouble clouds thoughts and fills lungs like smoke
I follow the sun through this cold, cold world
with everything and nothing to lose.
When falling to pieces —
life remains precious somehow.
So, until the end and from the beginning
—stardust to ashes—
keep dreaming and dreaming and dreaming
keep our world spinning and spinning and spinning.

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Hey there - I'm D. Writer/Storyteller | Creative Non-Fiction | Poetry. I know a little Tai Chi - but my Kung Fu is weak. Email: dabboh76@outlook.com

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D Abboh

D Abboh

Hey there - I'm D. Writer/Storyteller | Creative Non-Fiction | Poetry. I know a little Tai Chi - but my Kung Fu is weak. Email: dabboh76@outlook.com

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