Monday, February 28, 2011

Sloshed Rhythm

A pencil in hand
after years swept in sand
not much to moan
neither much left in hand.

Friends around
talking over bottles of rum;
about times to come
and of the by-gone.

A bit sleepy
at the dawn break,
darkened hours though;
unfolds a brighter day

By the sea, i sit and sing
of hopes and wishes
and dreams of colorful days.



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