Gently flow, softly ebb
A tenderness of my past now dead
Memory wanes into barely known scenes
Like a "better world", distanced by screens
And I am here, on the wrong side
Brightened skies, warmth, a smile
Forever seems more than "a while"
Faded pictures spot my walls
Slowly I stroll through mental halls
And I am here, in an empty home
Chillness creeps, no warmth, it seems
Just faulted roofs with dark wood beams
Stylized glass, designer bed
All for nothing: I have that instead
For I am here, each minute alone
It gets me to the point
I ask
"What
is
my
point?"
...
And
no one
can bother
to answer such
a
simple
question
...
because
no one
really knows
their own point
half the time.
--/Loneal 03Mar2005, 1108L KU/--
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