Ann Christine Tabaka

DAYMARE

Fragments of dreams
scattered among the ruins
of once lofty ambitions,
buried along with lost loves
and white lace promises.

Standing tall against
the crumbling visions.
Whispers of gargoyles
devouring drowned hope

Gray smoke rising
to signal hapless souls,
like so many cold dead fires
gasping for air.

Over and over again
we try to become
what we can never be.
Dashed on the rocks of futility.


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