Justine Knolle

Death of a Dream

As dark clouds cross
Your brow, and
Your flashing copper eyes,
I awake.
And realise,
As the night gently dies,
It’s not my dream that has died.
It is me.
Ripped open,
Torn apart,
They have removed
My beaten heart.
Leaving behind
A gaping hole,
Where once sparked
My twinning soul.
Sunday, 1 October 2006


All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Justine Knolle.
Published on e-Stories.org on 10/02/2006.


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