The dead don't die;
They stay alive
In our memories,
In my mind.
They haunt my dreams,
And my waking thoughts.
Poignant lullabies
Of days long-gone.
But perhaps it's possible
To die while living,
To have your heart
Carved away.
Fist-sized,
Pear-shaped,
Dripping bright red blood
On the pure white carpet.
To think that we once
Felt no pain
And precious little emotion.
To think that our life
Was trite and fickle.
But you were a hawk,
Soaring away,
And I was a cripple,
Crumpled to the ground.
 Broken_Soul_Torn_Mind · Tue Jan 27, 2009 @ 11:11pm · 0 Comments |
