2004-02-26
cold whispers
The delicate hands press down on the ivory keys and pour down emotion in every sound. When it hits the higher notes it makes me think of desperation...how can something so beautiful be so painful? A moonlight sonata written especially for me.
I walked on that sun-filled day when melancholy disappeared and the world was bright again. I had life once more...
A delicate whisper danced amongst the flowers and pour hope into my ears, so that it would make its way down into my heart. Whispers die with the passing wind, and those who become entranced suffer for it. Pain knows no boundary, and neither does it have scruples.
Such a dark world filled with fear...the dark shadows of fear. Gloom in the winter, and naked branches scraping the cold wind.