Treasure Island

Rebecca Stansfield


The Becoming


Jumping from the morning, but
who's wife sting,
as how we face the upcoming
bright summer.
After collapsing nightmares; no longer hung,
and dreams in which I cling.

On a hearty past of tragedy,
will sleep.
When we face the summer,
and motions moving ocean deep,
the waves of the past and of the weak,
and we're hopeless until the dream, almost.

Not longer, Not I try to dwell, not.
I'm aroused by the sleeping summer that awaits,
and all that before, never well,
is an opening!

At each step in the day is Wimbledon,
and faces of the latter is only the crowd,
and with soon existence of that feeling we finally won,
is approaching loud in prayers sound.

Submitted: Saturday, December 03, 2011

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