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Submitted on
March 15, 2012
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Before it was noisy,
with existence,
and music,
much music, endless.
But we sat there lonely
in quiet.
We waited with it,
and it ended with its
lack of sound and lack
of a life.
Loss of a great victory,
and one less haunts us the dead
with that laugh and those words.
If only we could.
Potential with age:
it's promise broken softly,
A wind in a hollow,
breath of soul,
passing through, letting go,
we know.
.
.
.

---
Please respect my writings~
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