Author Information
Dead November...
the endless wondering of a child -
thats who we were
we ran around the playground
of our borrowed youth
we left all the sole marks
of truth underneath the
rug of our fears
we felt the urge to
dwell inside our dance
but then again
we drifted apart like the leaves
blown away from the
frail arms of trees by the
chilly breeze of fall
weve gone back to
to the rough streets of
the world and became
a part of the clutter
that we are
lost in a crowd of
faceless creatures
habitual prisoners of life
of love of sin
you have become
a mother of the new
and i - a child peering
through the window of time
motionless and questioning
cuddled only by the warmth
of this frozen anticipation
disgracefully unwanted
desperately needed
forever in my bleeding
and constantly jaded
and wondering if
the november you burnt
would rise again from its ashes.
