it's what i use to be <br />a long time ago when <br />all things still had a chance <br />and thoughts of greater lands <br />were visible on the horizan <br />where the nights licked the days away <br />in a place of no returns <br /> <br />to a love <br />of madness and insecurities <br />yet fitting and all the same <br />of what remains still written <br />inside old books collecting dust <br />where nothing is to blame <br />but innocence of lust <br /> <br />its what made sense <br />so many lives ago <br />where poverty looked pretty <br />and hungar painted youth <br />across the lines of hands <br />erupting wine for the many few <br />waiting to still get there <br /> <br />tonight it all falls into place <br />like the last piece in a puzzle <br />and i remember how i got here <br />before the bottles wash it away <br />as another day changes its answers again <br />and my mirror stays out to lunch<br /><br />Charles Lara<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/resend/
