Dreams Like These: White fold mist in the sky. Separate dues of golden manifestations. Broad appeals of scarred infants. Soul by soul, the destruction unfolds. Grips from hands that can break them. Deterred alarms, we knew he was coming. Refined mysteries we finally lay to rest. Forty-three dead children amass the river beds. September ninth wore over. Skins of combs. Colds of night when knights came home. When leaders traded reaches as to our long worn freedom. Hold of amends we made in the past. Galleries of buried ambitions. Strides of our history passed in vile conversions. Sculptures of my broken bones symbolize the bruises of my rotten past. These dreams that made me whole. Callings from the grave. Drums in the pitch-black forests. Humdrum of wills that left us destitute. Goons in plagued demeanor. Cringed desires that gave their souls away. Screams of blood these walls house. Aisle by aisle, we view the tragedies Grime in texture, the loss of a legend. Blood-sewn crying skies. Selfsame as dreams to become greater.
Posted on: Mon, 30 Sep 2013 03:43:53 +0000
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