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The Mind

Mainly a record of my more interesting dreams that I was able to remember after waking up. (Apparently my uncontrollable confessions, as well. In the form of poetry. All to the same man.)

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Tempus Time It flies by so quickly It crawls by so slowly Days They sometimes drag on They sometimes vanish Weeks Can feel like days Or even mere hours Months Have passed before you Flashed in a blur Time Marching forward Leaving the past Time So quickly gone Having long since passed Time An eternal promenade Leaving only the future

Posted by: Questioned Sanity Mon Dec 12, 2011 @ 04:38am

If the boy who draws
lets you look over his shoulder.
If the poet
smiles
and shows you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only,
hums a song
in front of you.

Know that you’re no longer a person
but the air
and dust
that fills their lungs.

When the world perishes,
and all things cease to exist,
you’ll remain inside an ink stain,
a paint brush,
a song.

— Alaska Gold

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