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My soul that travels the cold streets and concrete paths, where despair is in place than desired circumstances, dreaming for dreams that were never reached. That time when...I once belonged to someone, was on someone’s mind, loved and then released to fight the winter of life’s troubles. Shall I close my eyes to rest? My hand laid on my chest against my beating heart checks, to see if it is willing to beat for one more tomorrow. I am the pottery shattered against the rock, the curtain of the house torn from the sill like human flesh no longer flowing with the warmth of blood. Will you look at me? As I wheel through the littered streets of neglect and whom I am forgotten. The pregnant silence still falls on deaf ears, and I am but an image that flickers on a wick and blown out like a whisper of goodbye.

Created: Aug 04, 2012


Hawxter Document Media