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Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Transition

I see it clearly but don't want to admit,
The colours fade out bit by bit,
 Revealing the deep deep parts of grey
As fond old colours are washed away.


My sullen face seems to pretend 
To find its peace as it faces the end 
Of childish dreams that the adult thwarts, 
Of ridiculous hopes left to rot: 
Deep in the grave where the tears dry.


To the weary soul, the naive li'l heart confides.

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