Tuesday, April 24, 2007

lonely cries

Thinking of you this night, this windy rustling of palm tress swaying in the dark.
The silence is wet with anticipating
The moment of seas crashing the wait of 30 years
The days and years wasted on sounds of cymbals made of pain
The chains of unheard angels singing toward light
This be the night before the end of lonely cries.


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