He spent his last moments under the rain. Those raindrops reminded him of the songs of a thousand voices in his head. He had hoped things like these would stop...

...She sensed
wickedness
in her dream
It wasn't time yet
but she struggled for
light...

...Flood came like washed out memories. He remembered when the flowers withered when night came. He stood motionless anticipating the drown. Ironically he smiled...

...She had always
believed in miracles
Though
she never knew
the taste of it
her hopes were strong...

...Time had stopped. Everything came back... everything. He knew that regrets would never taste sweet but never thought they could make him cry. And so he cried without the rain...

...Down on her knees
the wound was
deep
She wanted to cry but
they would see her
It rained
and she smiled...

She sits at the corner of a dusty room just beneath the ground. She tried to touch the bruise on her cheek but the throbbing pain was too much. She now believed that she's alive...

...Seven candles
and the sixth reminds him
of mommy
if only she's here
then the flames
would light
a better eighth...

...A bloodless sunlight struggled to reach her through a small window. She denied the calling as she sank into the nightmare. She never believed in hell 'til now...

...It was a night
when the moon wasn't suppose
to run red
she was gone
"I miss you..."
he heard himself whisper...

...An old wooden chair creaked as it carried her burden. She looked at the floor and the teardrops that stained the dust. She wore a devil's halo on her neck. She let go. Not to feel the breathing ground again...

...He blows the candle
with sadness
If only his wishes would
come true...
He is too young
to sit
under the rain
alone...

...The sun was dull that morning and the colors of the landscape were washed away by the restless wind and scattered shadows. He knew that the valley is only for the dead. He hesitated to walk on...

...She had
always known that
dried leaves
never enjoyed
the ground
maybe she's wrong...

...The afternoon light bled like melancholic Sunday. He feared the rumbling or perhaps feared that he was not prepared. He had hoped for a flood...

...A dead tree stands
amidst everything
It told her
the remnants
of things
that were once here...

...Weary and heavy with the walk, the cold seeped into his flesh. Drying the bones. The shivers slowly choked the sanity in him and he wondered if tomorrow would be the same... Who knows?

...Perhaps it is sad
sad that we
do not know
But... does it really matter?
Perhaps someday
we will
know...