Wednesday, June 30, 2010


By: James Dubeau

When the month
Grows short
And the eyes
Grow heavy
My mind starts to wonder
Down the many paths
It has been down
Sorting and deciding
That which has been
Set upon
Way back when
But the mind
Is a fickle thing
Never happy
With just one choice
Maybe some day
I will sleep easy
Knowing that my mind
Has been made up
But tonight
Is not
And will not
Be that night

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