I see the peeling paint upon the wall,
Along with bricks ready to fall.
The thunder is drawing near,
Whispered words are spoken with fear.
The rain is here with all it brings.
The smell? the sorrow of forgotten things.
Taste the tension in the air?
Bitter lonliness, lack of care.
Just like marble, cold and smooth,
I reach for a heart impossible to soothe.
Can you feel the sky falling down?
But if you'd never known, you wouldn't hear a sound.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
I see the peeling paint upon the wall,
Along with bricks ready to fall.
The thunder is drawing near,
Whispered words are spoken with fear.
The rain is here with all it brings.
The smell? the sorrow of forgotten things.
Taste the tension in the air?
Bitter lonliness, lack of care.
Just like marble, cold and smooth,
I reach for a heart impossible to soothe.
Can you feel the sky falling down?
But if you'd never known, you wouldn't hear a sound.
~inspired by Poe's Short Story "The Fall of the House of Usher" .
