| When |
| | Red sun rising somewhere through the dense fog. The portrait of the
jaded dawn who had seen it all before. This day wept on my shoulders. Still
the same as yesterday. This path seems endless, body is numb. The soul has
lost its flame. Walking in familiar traces to find my way back home. So
there I was. Within the sobriety of the immortals.
A semblance of supernatural winds passing through, The garden sighs, flowers die. The gate
was closed that day, but I was bound to carry on. She could not see me
through the windows. In dismay, strangest twist upon her lips. Graven face,
she said my name. Once inside I heard whispers in the parlour. The gilded
faces grin, aware of my final demise. And I cried, I knew she had lied.
Her obsession had died, it had died. When can I take you from this place? When
is the word but a sigh? When is death our lone beholder? When do we walk
the final steps? When can we scream instead of whisper? When is the new
beginning, the end of this sad |
| |
