You left,
you came,
back again.
Shattered in pieces I laid on the bed,
pouring my dreams out.
“What do you mean?”
I ask myself,
as I looked behind the curtain,
“is it over now?”
I can´t seem to be the one you thought I was,
laying here,
in my shattered dream.
Time will pass it always does,
and nothing is constant,
except for the lies.
Now the pieces were on the floor,
absorbed,
deep in the Great Mother.
And I found myself,
restored.
The Mystical Poet 