Icy alleys I walk alone in the cold dawn,
stepping over dead leaves that have fallen,
as dead as the feelings I've lost
and that have taken a piece of my soul with them.
Stone statues of green reflection I meet in my way
as many as those that have broken my heart
looking proudly toward the sky without bending
their stiff neck to look at those who suffer...
I've raised my fist in resentment, yelling
my rage to their dead eyes and waited
an answer that would never come...
And as their outside, their soul is green and black,
dead and putrefied and dry and cold...
No comments:
Post a Comment