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The Promiscuous Hours

September 24, 2014

The promiscuous hours slide sensously one into another
Writhing and twisting in endless ecstasy
Trickling down like the grainy sands of time
Dribbling out of the bottom of the sundered glass
Unraveling their bright promising potentiality
‘Till only tattered and frayed remanents litter your soul
A barren desert filled with broken dreams and squandered hopes
Riven by great gaping chasms carved out of grief and lost love
Taste the bitter lees of sorrow’s draught on your tongue
The Grim Reaper claims everyone in the end
Time flies, ages pass, and all is gone and Ā forgotten.

Emily

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From → Poetry

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