Darryn John Murphy NEW ZEALAND Boulevard Of Broken Dreams Vanishing from all hope or so it seems Living here upon this Boulevard of broken dreams Behind these layers of our illusion What is truly left behind The sandy shore, the wooden floors The pocket watch wanting for a dime Where desperation always looms Thoughts are seldom seized nor groomed Marked by souls with other brooms Lost within these various places No one really see their faces Hidden in the flooring Are they mooring by the sea As they watch us from the trees Will they fall like rustic leaves To only walk the golden mile To wait before but never smile To shed the tears of hopeless doubt To only listen before they shout
Copyright, Darryn John Murphy.
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