In my meadow of imaginary flowers,
I lie in spite of myself,
counting the hours.
If you look closely,
Then maybe you will see
Through the lies
I use to cover my eyes,
So that no one can find
The sorrow that hides
Deep down inside of me.
YOU ARE READING
Constellations Of The Mind
PoetryThoughts pulled at random from the jumble of mischief I claim to be my mind.
