Of Dreams And Dust

No finer wine than love
to drug the mind and
soothe the pain
but the press is still
the barrel webbed
and all sweet grapes decayed
Lift the empty glass to memory
to hope and need turned rust
and speak of a love that ended love
the death of dreams, and the taste of dust


© W.R.R. 6/10/2005

About W.R.R.

Bipolar & survivor of incest/child sex abuse and adult male rape; bisexual, polyamorist, poet/writer/advocate & married father of four. View all posts by W.R.R.

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