Saturday, March 28, 2009


old me now -
And let the wind caress my window
as it sweeps it’s cold through the will of my wall.
Thus awakening to the sound of darkness,
breaths suspended before me, the ghosts of memory made ethereal
that the chill of regret runs frigid through out my veins.
Has time stolen the colors from my sight that life is not but illusion
has love unrequitable only been delusion
that I lie in the silence of breathless confusion
fearing sleep will hasten livings
- Conclusion.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

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