Stories told,
The veils are torn;
The innocence stains my hands.
The pain’s rise,
The fear divides;
The deep descend of a
Blazing edge…
Over the faceless skin.
The salty smell,
A crimson shade;
Painting the truth in me.
She’s lost,
And her silence sealed;
Into the ancient equilibrium,
Again, I fade.
F.FIRE May 6, 2003
No comments:
Post a Comment