A fellow journeyman struggling to rediscover his first love. These are my tears, my wounds, my struggles, and my questions. May, as the saints of old have said, they be the tools other's lives are built on.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Oh the sounds the pavement makes
As shadows rise from within
Flat, empty, hollow lives
Locked in the prisons of their mind
Erupting from the cracked pavement
The faceless army unites
Armed with pen and pain
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