Pen Meets PaperA Poem by Noche
The air is filled with the sounds of composure,
The lost, the damned, scream without closure, As clouds break, and beams shine through, One falls directly above you. A mote, an idea, a dream wrapped in light, Coursing through the poison, your hate, your fright, But not once does it stop the pace, Of the world you so readily chase. A burden, shouldered, and notes gone unread, Just as the flesh decays from the dead, Stripping them all of what once made them shine, The dream-less and life-less...a soul so very fine. Not bound by chains, Or by reality's binds, Falling like rain, In a harmony of sound. Some sound for the deaf, And words for the mute, Loaded in hand, Ready to shoot. Right through my mind, And stagger me so, As the world will find, The Chemo I know. As 'Pen Meets Paper,' And the "Angel" spreads her wings, Amongst the rubble, Industry sings.
© 2013 NocheAuthor's Note
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Added on April 5, 2013 Last Updated on May 3, 2013 Author |