Siesta - 2011/07/27

Their screams echo in the night
Reaching beyond dreamy barriers
Whatever the true reason may be
The sounds of pain are harriers
Night fades with the dawn I rue
For lights of day are unwelcome
What was once the daily routine
Is now the beat of a slave drum

Everything is very out of sorts
Nothing progresses as it should
Imploring us to frantically ask
Does would always trail a could
Probably not says a mad figment
Of the imagination now conjured
That absolute potential remains
Despite your view being blurred

Certainly not responds the gnat
Brandishing his crown of quarks
This is the glimpse of a future
Where a dying mind leaves marks
So here I sit struggling to say
Whatever one should be believed
Ignoring the fact I need a rest
To truly prevent being deceived

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