The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers. (delascabezas) wrote,
The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers.
delascabezas

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prophecy in previous posts

what moonlit dream led me to this place?
this harlem.
just as i seem to be wriggling free of pins
and needles of past sleeping
dreams, aslumber for the pursuit
of that perfect tomorrow...

i am thrust into the realm of
the white rabbit.
moonlight is eclipsed;
i sit watching the slow wane
of silver to sickle width.

why make it through one dream
just to witness the death of another?
why awaken breathless with hope
that it was all just a mistake of
morpheus?

when, in reality, if
you can call it that
to watch from the other side of the glass
to hear the words which were tossed at you
in what you thought was base thoughtlessness
heartlessness
spite
are in fact the words of hurt and confusion

it is worse than
Harkonnen machinations
with no worms to ride
at the end of dreams
and no blue eyes to wake up to
when sunlit morn arrives
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