Testament
Bare feet, shuffling through an old house in the last lingering hour of night. Drawn to a narrow window, facing the anxious eyes of a never ending dawn with nothing to reach, and nothing to attain. Dull hands open dusty blinds and there, in winter grey and grim, a nameless man hobbles down the road, in the cold rain of a black and bloodless day. Written January 28th, 2002 © on Jan 28 2002 02:39 PM PST 10 • 0 • 1
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"Bare feet,..."