deepundergroundpoetry.com
WISTERIA CROWN
Disconsolate, I wait
For embers to die out
For smoke to mask my fate
My deluge in the drought
A modicum of green
In which I can believe
I finger through a page
To find my way back home
But stories dust with age
In these halls that I roam
A single tear is freed
A mirror sees the deed
I guess I'll pluck the weed
I'm enslaved by routine
No time to go outside
There's days I'm never seen
And you could blame the night
And I don't feel alright
A modicum of green
In which I can believe
My wisteria crown
My sun is going down
I miss my family, true
Can't miss what you forget
But I'm losing them too
In the gaps in my head
And I'd rather be dead
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