It occurs to me that the days which I wait for
The minutes I pray for
And the moments from which I expect a new world,
born before my very eyes
are often broken,
empty, illusions,
wobbling back on forth on the table before they fall.
They take advantage of my hope and attention
and draw my silly young mind away,
like any simple, perfect distraction, from
like any simple, perfect distraction, from
real life.
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