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Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Hollow Dreams

A hollow dream is a magician's box,
to which our anticipation is dug.
(Scintillating)
his gloves are like stars
whose oscillation of waves reaches
the young acquiescent eyes.
Seize it, seize it.
It becomes our hand
that draws them stars closer.
Heads cocked, fists clenched,
the pearl sweat gushed,
our innocence moistened like fire
kindling from fuel sprung
neither of condescension
nor lachrymosity.
Surprise, surprise!
The glove seized it
like a frail hand fiddling
our tuned strings of hope.
Then it came to us—
the music it played is sick,
emanating from the empty note sheets
that the box contains.
His voice said,
kids, the party is over.

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