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Sunday, February 15, 2009

Grey Of The Morning

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Coming back from a depressive spell sucks. And here's a poem -

Counting crows in the grey of the morning,

She looked at me and asked,

'Why is it so lonely out here?'

We were already lost,

Me in her eyes,

Her in her thoughts,

She looked at me and asked,

'Why are you so lonely out here?'

I had no reply,

Every single smile was a formulated lie,

On her part and mine,

I asked her if she wanted some coffee,

She looked at me,

As if the answer were already there,

She played with her hair,

Her fingers lost in the flood of the gold,

Mixed with the brown she was trying to run away from,

I looked at the clouds,

My eyes contemplating the day she fell,

Into my arms,

The day I died,

Her phone rang,

She spoke in a whisper,

And she she looked at me and said,

'Mathew jusy arrived,

so I should go',

And she just looked at me,

I offered my hand, 

A friendly handshake was there was left,

To disguise what we felt,

She picked up her bags,

Said thanks,

And don't forget to call,

And then she was gone,

And the counting crows played on,

In the grey of the morning.

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