So now, all of you users must question the same. For where is there any mean sense of a gain? Is it found in the words? No the words have been used. Is it found in the thought? No, this too is abused.
Author: Heal
Poetry:Instilled
For now the rest has lain to dream A nest of ghastly, beastly things A web of sin spent in repent The swift serene scene of what came And went
Poetry:To Brown
A drop, a trace, what matter now? For all I spill will turn to brown Like light flashing freely and sun dimmed for eve What starts out as blue
Musing:Silence
Light was a blinding sun today. Lotion-thick air in black, choking lungs seems cruel and intent on smothering hope. Was there a purpose or reason for the mistrust of life aligning? Possibly it was just the cruel vanity of life in its quest to quench any fire not set by its own hand.
BlyssfulStorm
The sky is full of saints today Writhing in the throes of pain It seems the turmoil has begun To claim the souls to whom it’s clung
Embers
Smoldering hopes on a hearth burning black Just turn glowering eyes to the ones staring back From the embers rise trails Of a fire once strong
Obscure
A hand made thin and pale. A hand, scarred and reaching, finds no other. Look up and reach out. Surely there will be a guiding light. Surely there will be a sense of where to go. Surely there will be a slap to the face and a sad disgrace and you will doubt again.
Sliver
Throughout the blackness Of tomb doors Light slim like fire Comes across the floor