Best Poem of W.B. Mad

Hidden Dreams
Dreams real and yet still indifferent.
Left on old rickety shelves for further investigation.
Dreams left in the dark spaces.
Hiding from the world, and all the peering eyes.
Lights shining bright on old horizons.
The old dreams illuminated. . . .
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The Past
Sunny Sunday mornings.
Spent in overused phrases of love.
Shot down with bullets from past lovers.
Caught in the undertow of memories.
Memories that should be forgotten and never ever remembered.
Little memories shut up in the top of old suicide pills.
All those crazy little thoughts.
Little thoughts . . .
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