Monday, February 14, 2005

one last poem before the muse is dead

too late to change my mind
you're deep within it
too late to change my heart
it's in too many pieces
to rearrange
I will pass on this reality
and take it with me
to my grave
a thing to be remembered
as potential
never given life
because the muse is dead
and I have buried her
within my dying heart
within my lying mind

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