Amber-Coloured Dreams

Soft sound of jazz sways in the background,

Like the memory of a woman,

Lingering on until it hurts to sit still.

.

And with a full glass in hand

I bear the ache and stare into my drink,

Vaguely hoping that it will all disappear

When I know the only thing that will fade

Is me.

.

And like leaves that fall off branches one by one,

My thoughts fall to congeal at the bottom of my glass.

.

Hours pass. Or perhaps it is years.

I have forgotten why I am mourning, but I am still here,

Glass in hand and slumped in my chair,

Like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

.

The music plays on, seemingly endless,

Keeping me from sleep and from a waking life.

And exhausted, I gaze at the distant band,

Wanting nothing more than for it to go on.

.

.

.

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This entry was published on January 15, 2013 at 2:38 PM. It’s filed under Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

write the fox

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