with the pause
2008/02/18 in poems
with the pause
by tanner brockwell
with the pause
there is a tear
the faint shade
of hope delayed
where depths unshown
whisk with current fast
and the sound of sweeping
is a sound that’s passed
the bristles have no value now
but the simple week
they are dry and sleep
in a coma of lost creativity
this is what i say
that the art is there
the dreams are fair
and almost spoken is
almost a dare
so leave the dark night
for restless roads
and if sleep will come
well if it might
so there be the dark
before there is light
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