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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-04-20 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
Morning breaks the barriers of simple days
to the reality of the moment, the fear, torment that seems on its own accord to rise with Sun The humbled eyes peer trough the long hollowed course of ones life reflective, breaking the self to the truths Untold ones many, that creep upon the edge of thought and runs the diagonal line straight through Till it touches deep the heart. If I could cry anymore, It would be an ocean painted to the colour of my blood Dripping till gone the life retained that sees no tomorrow, no new day Just the clouded fabricated structures That draw and holds me a prisoner of this my self. Alisdaire O'Caoimph
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