Lungs stretched
Thin strings (And we will walk for hours)
As if to reveal
Proportional damnation
Of death; Yours was the one
In which I would partake
Cocktail of antic tunes
Into the red chair
Here I stand now
Before everlasting idols
Copyright 2004 Dancing_Monkey
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/2296/50545 on Saturday July 19th, 2008 12:43 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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