Really Really Me



Today, tomorrow, we chase our dreams,
the grass is always greener,
on the other side, or so it seems.
There never seems to be enough time,
to get things done.
Always rushing, here, there, on the run.
Then one day, in the mirror we look,
what do we see?
Who is this person, staring back,
can this, really, really, be me?

Tango.




Poetry by Tango
Read 770 times
Written on 2011-01-04 at 08:56

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ngaio Beck
Know just what you mean. Well done!
2011-01-08


vladimir turmanev
Wonderful commentary
2011-01-05