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He has scraped through the agonies of heaven,
Sifted through immeasurable souls
With the accuracy of the omnipotent,
And finding each one lacking, has sealed
His hearing to the voices he created.


He neither recognises or understands the
Discordant cacophony rupturing from his
Dystopian nightmare. A twin soul rises,
With open palms to shelter the bodiless ruins
That shriek for salvation.


Thousands turn to the night for the light
That it offers. The rocking lull of shelter and warmth.
The empty bottles spinning, the endless smoking
Whispers.


There's no silence underground,
Only the thankful murmurs of souls
Now cradled.
©2008-2009 =thewesternwoods
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Submitted: May 17, 2008
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Sometimes I feel like I'm getting close to something, only for it to fall away.
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:wow: Okay..ive been thinking what to write for awhile now and all i can think is.............I LOVE IT!!! hehe
This is just perfect. You capture something so subtle, as a feeling of comfort, within your words here.

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“One piece of his heart for every tear she granted..”
faved it, then forgot it, saw it on my random favorites, read it, loved it, came here to comment on it, the end.

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"Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway."

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