Monday, February 05, 2007

And so she sits, at the window alone
Looking at something not quite forlorn
What it is that she sees, as she searches the skies
Nobody knows for the viels in her eyes
He used to come after midnight till dawn
Fading away like a warm summers breeze
at the first crest of light to symbolize morn
Softens your heart, releases the freeze
Begs you for trust,
Then makes you bleed
Still she finds herself caught
In the webs of his mind,
and just keeps goin back
each and every time
A sworn promise or was it a lie
why does it hurt so
when he says goodbye?


Blogger Parzifal Odinson said...

I dont know why I keep reading your stuff...maybe its the plain honesty that touches me so..

Or It could be that I one day wish some lady would have such passion in description of me, or the lack there of.

Oh ye solitary ones
unlovly and unloved...As I...
Bleeding,wounded and standing yet
to never betray
at all costs,
even if it is the loss of ones heart. "If such a thing could ever be tolerated with sanity"


12:42 AM  
Blogger Nephilim said...

Would you believe me parzifal, if I were to tell you the whole things a fantasy?
Gotta hate that, when even your fantasies go ary
for the record, I do believe the one who stirs such passions is certainly less enthusiastic then you are at my writing ;)

7:18 AM  
Blogger Parzifal Odinson said...

Maybe everything is a fantasy and we,nothing more then creations and dream phantasms of something terribly close to our unformed/unrealized minds.

All paths, perhaps not else save a way twards the stirring of wakefullness of this large sleeping mind....ending twards our undoing....or rebirth..

either or/ cannot all fantasys be mistimed happenings and realities.

Whatever we all shades of fantasys or dreams ourselves you there should still write to your illusionary muse.

But im just philosophically rambling now.


1:15 AM  
Blogger Nephilim said...

you know, have I mentioned I really dig your work?

8:48 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home