Wednesday, July 8, 2009


I was once too passionate,
to be heard.
Ignored as if a haunting,
unknowing of death.
A memory so easily betrayed,
carries many regrets.


I heard her whisper,
that she tried.
Blanketed by the twilight,
of the night.
With her head bowed,
she let out a sigh.
And listened to the echos,
as the world died.

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