Looking into broken fragments
emerging from ones soul
memories etched on the faces of the beautiful and the old
Or the old and beautiful
Broken shards of life puncture us and burn
revoking passions long diluted by lifes stronghold
Imagery becomes more real than the long lost reality
we colour paint by numbers
Made silent by lifes continual surprises.
The dreamers tend to fall headfirst into the clouds
always tainted by the shroud
Never seeing what is revealed
Instead imagination used to potential to create
A Parallel world
Where we feel love and we are who we are
undoubt makes us stronger
lesser bodies falter
We with our prose and our pens
Confuse ourselves