Mister SandmanA Poem by ChaseMy poems never are what I intend them to be at their birth.. but neither are we what our parents intend.Hes made of things that go unseen into the deep of night. He saunters, slinks, slides and glides not caring- wrong or right. He taps upon your temples, yes, when lids have just been closed, and filters through your tainted thoughts to rip, tear and steal your light till all undone with woe. © 2015 ChaseAuthor's Note
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Added on December 9, 2015Last Updated on December 9, 2015 |

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