wasted words of prayer

in the endless days
filled with finite prayers
the sun never touched the skin
feet never walked the ways
all is, but within

in the shortest nights
the constant fights
where dreams tend to die
never in the lights
in the shadow of the lie

fearfull moments of rain
hiding under the leaves of pain
desire of the sane
when time comes again
and it works with the brain

new to the light
new to the thought
but scars of old
a battle that forgot
to kill the memory sold

craving for the love
carving the cave of enough
drowning the lust for life
erasing the memory
like the abuse of the sharp end of a knife
you always remember
always see what it was
eventhough polished and tender
a blunt knife still resembles
the cuts it made
25 mrt 2008 - meld ongepast verhaal
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sui, man, 47 jaar
   
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