how far we become a drift; out of place,
beggars grovelling before a strangers shadow,
no reason for right, violent colours stained grey,
lost memories trampled by the silence of tears,
the rain is cold, but listens, empathetic is no one,
we grovel, out of place, in a strangers way.
I hope for rain.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
how far we become a drift; out of place,
beggars grovelling before a strangers shadow,
no reason for right, violent colours stained grey,
lost memories trampled by the silence of tears,
the rain is cold, but listens, empathetic is no one,
we grovel, out of place, in a strangers way.
I hope for rain.
