between love and hate
there is a thin line
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whispers in the dark
The greys unfold
and darkness falls.
The wind whispers
of stories untold.
Thought of as breath of mother earth,
it carries the saints in the darkness of her
her swollen gerth.
The winds whistel is but a restless soul
screaming of vengience,
yet it blows so soft and suttle,
full of inocence.
The earth cracks and another is torn
and again she has produced( a child is born).
WE slumber,while the seeds of her fruit are
sown,carried threw the silence,
to grow the unknown.
With a smile she breeds;
the more she gives, the more she needs.
For her wicked breath floats,
and another soul is stollen....
and she gloats.
She spreads her roots to grow,for the more
she produces , the less she owes.