Slender beams of moonlight enter this darkened place as I kneel, always somber, always silent, frozen here, waiting.
Haloed forms wrought in panes of glass loom as dust dances in the air, forming an image in my mind, sparing not my exposed soul.
A reflection on a mirror's face.
I raise my head, now defying this callous light.
2 comments:
Well, aren't you Mister Gloomypants?
I can write poetry too
http://www.deadlounge.com/poetry/poem3.html
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