We seek better, forseen worse.

Sunday, January 30, 2005

"Flower"

The noise
simmers to the short silence it once took pride.
The scream
echoes across the halls of the Catacombs.

He waits.

The terror
rips across a poor man's soul.
The dream
is bleeding on the floors.

Silence.

With effort
the echoes stop.
and so there waits my fate.

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