'All pasts are like poems; one can derive a thousand things, but not live in them' John Fowles

Saturday, August 21, 2004

Swept Away

The glistening ice reflecting;
she glides smoothly, aimlessly.
Her blades swiftly cutting,
till the fallen snow witnessed her
Bleeding

Crystal clear was the Truth
Even more so, her tears.
For she had lost what
she found dear

And so she melts away
One with the Snow
with the Darkness
that almost
Glows.

Very tired!! I'm off to sleep now... the above was another gibberishy piece; was just writing for fun. Hmm looks quite hopeless, no theme at all! Oh well... ZzzZzzzzZZzzzZZ

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