Day: April 11, 2016

Micropoetry Collection (April) III

Gears

In a river of sorrow,

All of my hope disappears,

Letting go of tomorrow,

As fate grinds her rusty gears.

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Brown eyes

When I can no longer see sentiments,

Your brown eyes do become my genesis.

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Reasoning

Drawing blood for enjoyment,
Left hollow and so detached,
And suspended and dormant,
My reasoning torn and scratched.

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