Sunday, 2 January 2011

Happiness, tantilisingly tangible, now gone.
For indecision in a smiles infancy,
I know that I partly am wrong.
As this small crime swings back to me.

With such force though, and hate!
Stabbed by a silvery, venomous tongue!
The seeds of contentment yet to germinate,
Float away.
Unwritten words to a summery song.

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