The Dreamer’s Lounge


the echoes of the mind

 

Peace will return
as the silt begins to wither,
as the sirens of spring
begin to strutter
the old conversations
in the dreamers lounge,

remember we were once young,
the fire in our hearts
the old books we carried
in our golden bags,
the sharpened pencils
with their stranded designs
as the orange peel
remains in half drunken cup

as the old wires tremble
to find its plug,
the silence moves
through the winds of its rapture
as the old stories
finds its characters
Through the scribbles
of its fracture

near the old heaps of books,
in there, remains the enigma
of our times and of our rhymes
and gone, in split second
the echoes of the mind……

KASHKIN

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