Wednesday, 22 May 2013

Half Poem

I found this half-finished poem among my documents.

When will we walk the mountains,
stride the plains in brisk and steady rhythm,
hum as we cross borders, break the trails,

And what? I will never know! My train of thought has no end station; it is a frustrating, ghostly ride, a neverending journey that simply passes station after station after station. I am a rusting machine, grinding slowly to a stop, and I have a hard time completing my

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