OrphanA Poem by Dream WeaverI’m crossing borders should I make amends, void of enemies and yet invisible to friends.
I’m preposterous and inconceivable a feigning rage, with no clear direction, there’s no hope for my “Golden Age”.
Digressing in silence, I deviate from the plan; my intuition craves defiance, such a weakling of a man.
And so the search continues, with one clean shot to the head, don’t pity me for my eccentricities… bang I’m dead! © 2013 Dream WeaverReviews
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4 Reviews Added on January 31, 2013 Last Updated on April 25, 2013 Author
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