With this thirsting for life
I'm seemingly lost
as the unfulfilled days
gather like grapes.

Like lemonade
I'm wishing these days
could all be crushed,
stomped out, into a fine wine.

Then I could drink in
fruitless days of toil
and become intoxicated
with all that potential.

For now, instead,
I'm left feeling parched
as days and nights mesh
with barren flowers.

09/13/2012

Posted on 09/14/2012
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