Tuesday, April 2, 2013


A Veronika Carnaby Original

Rows of corn and wheat/flail about at my feet/as I look at the ghost town's street and wonder./My hope grows stronger with every passing automobile/and I grow older with each turn of the steering wheel./A flashing life may only exist in my head/but ain't that good enough than dread?/Let's grab the cord of one o' these cumulus clouds/and float up in an ecstasy shroud.../where we can see/fragments of life, just you and me./The graveyards/only shards/of inexistence will become, the downpour a remnant of the past./The hitchers shall finally find true love on the open road/the pack of white-haired politicians in their D.C. abodes/and us in our utopic state/where we reflect and meditate.

©Veronika Carnaby, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

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