Poetry of a Conlanger

Friday, November 11, 2005


I smiled
As my pulse darted away.
I didn’t know the effect you had on me.
If I knew how to make
You smile,
Then perhaps my lifebeat would return.

Or was it all a dream, a crafted illusion?
Your smiles
Are meant for another, I’m told.
My pulse will not return, then.
A breath slithers from cracked lips.
I shall wilt with the dawn,
And no longer


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