deepundergroundpoetry.com
Crying
Flawed by a dark obsessed chorus of voices
made of stones, knowing that stones
possess no arias except in dreams.
Strolling through the evening shades
promenade of orchards of glades
as the wind intones a silence of the bones.
In shadows of the dead baritones
and the dark's unknown...
listening to the crying
made of stones, knowing that stones
possess no arias except in dreams.
Strolling through the evening shades
promenade of orchards of glades
as the wind intones a silence of the bones.
In shadows of the dead baritones
and the dark's unknown...
listening to the crying
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