[The dismal beauty]

The dismal beauty of death's pale, looming invitation stands. So much time have I spent crying my fears into the palms of my tired worn hands expecting reassurance, comfort in the darkest hour of pain. Maybe I'll sleep, But what if from my slumber I awake and find myself alone. 'til the crying is done and the tears are dry 'til the rain has stopped and no more clouds in the sky. I'll wait for my captor. Written March 28th, 2002 © on Mar 28 2002 02:40 PM PST   18 • 0 • 1