Thoughts arrive like butterflies
2002-08-07 19:58:20 (UTC)


Just a lame poem

Surrounded by mist
Where they are wounded
There's no healing
Where they decay
Nothing is perfect
Crowded by night
Abandoned by day
In silence they wait
In the shadows of grey
Darkness comes to erase the day
In pain, our broken houses of flesh
Old, next to the ruined pillars of the sun
And as old as the sky
From which they descend
Old as the darkness
That will never end

The waters that rust our souls is time
From birth until death
in constant decline
With all the fading trees and flowers
We also fade and waste
Expressions printed upon a porcelain face

Ack, I'm bored. Another hour to wait 'till there's the
programme on TV I want to watch, and there's no one online.

And I'm fed up with updating my site.
Fuck that shit.