This is something I wrote a few nights ago, at about 4:00 in the morning, while I was watching the sky. Sitting on the top of the giant roped "spiders web" at the park. My hiding place since I was little..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A blowing breeze may whisper a tale. Rustling blades of grass may sport a show. The colours of the sunset against the crashing horizon may be your nightly portrait of simple perfection. But what of this girl, with her hair blowing in this breeze? With her nightgown, rustling as the grass? With her eyes, dancing with the relection of such marvels, as she stands on this socluded cliffs edge?
Do her words mean nothing, simply because she does not glow as the sun, or be as beautiful as the moon?
Listen to her silent whispers. For they may change your visions..
BurningIdentity · Thu Sep 14, 2006 @ 10:25pm · 0 Comments |