.... dead flowers in the final countdownA Poem by Frieda Plast breath's illusionslipped into your shadow, felt like darkly molten lava run amuck with an edge in authority choked on dense, upheaval's last breath shooting sparks within your superiority we favored you the name death yet, knowing nothing more then yesterday's calling, still impoverished in your vitality of expression an overly creative humor's quest for productivity, comfortably numb in your belief's reality as deprived of knowledge 'til after the fact, could possibly trip the next detached illusion
© 2014 Frieda PAuthor's Note
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14 Reviews Added on July 25, 2014 Last Updated on July 25, 2014 AuthorFrieda PNJAboutIf you want to know me, read my poetry, it's all in there. I am a mother of three sons (my finest moments) a sister, a survivor and a little bit crazy. I lost my beloved sister to suicide, so you'll.. more..Writing
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