As in silent motion
white faced petals
polish our livingnestled near, ready to rise
and outshine the sorrow
etched upon our face;
hate, that rusty nail
on the floor of hell piercing
the naked feet of our foul specter.As in silent motion
dream’s painted face
fetches our melody…
Auteur: | thepoetryman op dinsdag, 9 okt 2007 |
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Licentie: | Copyright, Alle rechten voorbehouden |