Thursday, November 18, 2004

Pangs.

Glass shattering at the deafening silence,
Blood gushes from the gaping wound.
A change of mind causes an excruciating turn.
For a leaden weight drags one further towards the tomb.

Laying in the shadows of darkness,
One ponders about the walk through the catacombs.
With every step forward, the further the distance;
Contradicting the difference in depths of love and doom.

Lost in the vast abyss,
My mind is in a whirl.
Beginning with an intangible ache first,
Before the tragic fate of an oyster and its pearl…

Maimed by the coldness of your touch,
From something beautiful to a martyrdom…
It seems impossible to withhold a grudge,
For false hopes brings one forth to a brand new morn.

Love,
Brenda.
11/18/2004 11:03:00 PM