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When The Moon Is Dead

In the gloom of the night my weary soul lurked around searching for yours. I walked across a black river beneath the dark sky. Tortured souls coming to the surface screaming out for redemption. Never an absolution. But i could not find you. I saw dark figures wandering on the other side. I could not make out what they really resembled. I heard night birds singing, echoing from the indistinct world surrounding me. Still no certainty of your presence. I had led myself astray. I waited. I sat by the river thinking to myself. With the night birds singing their gloomy songs to me. The lost souls splashing in the river before me. I waited. And i found myself sitting under an old oak tree. The ancient soul of the forest. Staring at me with such a curiousity. Its branches moved restlessly as if feeling my own restlessness. But i sat back still. Waiting for the moon to come out.
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Written by
robert-kingsley
Scottish
Published
Feb 25, 2011
Lines·Words
21·160
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