Unsung Prayer
A long corridor looms in the dark.. The stench coming from its walls Smells like dead rotting flesh. There she stands in the middle, With arms stretched like open fire Asking for silver songs to be cast In poetic opprobrium and cheer. Vainglorious as she is,Hers is the yearning of trapped godsIn bodies of drunk men on earth..
Entry @ 2:20 PM;
Monday, June 27, 2005
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