Friday, June 19, 2009

It wasn't hell after all

It was the chill of the morning air
the black bird piercing the silence without an echo to his cry
It was a sad expression acknowledged quietly in the glance of two passing strangers
the dog that hid under the porch to die alone
It was the old lady waiting patiently by the phone for someone... anyone to call her
the only child left on the playground
The pain is too precious to me
I thought I saw you kneeling at the end of my bed
the blackest wings stretched to the heavens
It was the final breath before you passed into the night
the beauty of birth can be found again in death

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