Tuesday, June 14, 2005
-Soul at a corner-
Shards of splintering glass i tread
reflections different.
unique, undocumented love.
It signs deep into pages of life
drifting like the occasional side breeze
the wind brings
in times of monumental silence and craving.
Regret always seemed like an usual aftertaste
Igniting all hidden senses
imploding you into the same world of loss
that cannot be salvaged
but only be re-found.
Yet we are familiar tourists,
armed with the game of procrastination.
I see an ice chamber in the hearts of many
storing the importance of what there was
yet failing to relay
what they could be.
And hence pictures of memories stay,
unwritten onto but only read upon
as we all tread on, smiling,
downplaying all that is what made us after all.
Written fashion may not be history @9:57 PM
