The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

The Echo

The echo of the love you speak of,
was never truly mine to hold.

Yet the whisper of your gentle venom,
refreshes daily and never gets old.

Never again will I settle,
for less then what my spirit is worth.

To be beaten by words of poison,
and stoop to the levels I'm told.

A genuine soul is unveiled,
when the healing has taken place.

For thy soul has been brutally battered,
by the world envisioned and conveyed.

Living in peace and thriving passions,
showing kindness as it unfolds.

For all mankind who choose to love me,
are my brothers and sisters tenfold.

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