Sunday, May 3, 2009
The shrapnel of splintered dreams tore through my gossamer future Slicing jagged tears in its thin layer of protective skin, Penetrating deeply into perceivable images of hope while Searing burning gashes to expose the sublime notions of these reveries. Exposing raw, ripped sinew long weakened by age and cold desire, Fragments barely slowed as they shattered skeletal bones Whose marrow and tissue once comprised the strong framework of my ambitious passion And the very fabric of my wounded voracity. Profusely flowing secretions poured out rainbow streams of delusions Onto the honest, cold ground of sensibility. As my last aspirations puddled silently to rest, One drop stubbornly held to its host to become the final vestige of fancy. Stained and nearly emptied of fantastic ideals, I wept for the loss of my hypothetical visionary spirit. It had become the carnage of the unrelenting ordnance of reality, Now indistinguishable pieces of worthless wishes littering the field of sensibility. My body, stabilized by transfusions of prudence and restructured objectivity, Remained as a shell of sober, harmless flesh Disabled not in form, but in unbalanced mind That harbored a solitary, trifling stowaway-- a sliver of a broken dream.
Posted by Frank Thompson at 5:29 AM