Justine Knolle

Death of a Dream

As dark clouds cross
Your brow, and
Your flashing copper eyes,
I awake.
Startled.
And realise,
As the night gently dies,
Its not my dream that has died.
It is me.
Myself.
Inside.
Ripped open,
Torn apart,
They have removed
My beaten heart.
Leaving behind
A gaping hole,
Where once sparked
My twinning soul.
 
Sunday, 1 October 2006

 

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Published on e-Stories.org on 10/02/2006.

 

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