by Kimberly Bare

Misshapen memories the mind doth hold,
reconstructing stories formerly told.
If the heart cannot handle the broken ties,
the insistent mind construes the lies.

The line of truth is sometimes bent,
reminiscent of the happier places went.
'Tis true, when darkness falls we seek out the light,
Whatever it takes to make it through the night.

As though dreams would invade our false sense of hope,
we pull tight our shroud of mystery like it were a cloak.
Holding tightly to the remnants of the mind,
in a theatre performance that lasts for all time.


Posted on 09/04/2003
Copyright © 2022 Kimberly Bare

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