BLUR OF MOTION
When the blur of motion,
Will cease,
Only the graveyard of suppressed emotion,
Will be left to appease.
At whom will you so hatefully scorn,
When you realize all are forlorn,
Shadows will henceforth exist,
Where drizzled joy’s heavenly mist.
Existence will be as empty as a dirge,
With no soul left to purge,
Of its sins,
All that’s left will be pins.
Pins of the forgotten “what if’s”,
So foolishly trying to scour clean,
All the past tiff’s,
Trying to regain the fractured “has been”
Fractured pieces of the invincible mind,
Fallen from its Herculean might,
Some left behind,
In uncertainty’s darkest night.
A night so dark and deep,
A void so difficult to fill,
Gently lulling into the deepest sleep,
Even past the mighty mind’s will.
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