|
Out of the mist there is a call
It whispers... whispers
I strain to here
I fall to the sand
The beach is gray, dead, forbidding
It was the down fall of my life
Pain staying within
The day my parents died on the sea
I try to here it
Calling to me so
But the one sound rings in my head, and it will not go
The sound that makes me suffer so
"We will be back, do not fret."
But the words were meaningless
For they were dead
So I sit upon this rock, above the ocean doom
I fall in a trance of hopless pain
And I jump from the ledge and plunge to my doom
I see my parents, and they smile a welcome
And so I die, and finally find peace
 Silra · Sat Apr 02, 2005 @ 07:58pm · 1 Comments |
