it's a blue evening lost in oblivion
of a warm blanket and a burning heart.
and a tired pop song is a soundtrack for
the last notes of the night.
the fire is burning over the ashes of a
candlestick that's a firework waiting
to explode has left me a bit
cinged.

and in these fleeting moments
from night to morning and
morning to sleep
i awake with a new dawn of an idea
and the sunset of an old ideal.

these hopes were fires burning inside
and this dissent, over time has, died.

and so, what have i left?
a shread of a hope a change
for the better.

and what's in my hands?
the reality of the matter:
that hope is nothing;
a pipe dream.

03/08/2003

Author's Note: i dont really know why i wrote this... w/e

Posted on 03/09/2003
Copyright © 2025 Andrew S Adams