Bullet41
ubw rookie
Joined: May 22, 2005
Location: Bracknell
Posts: 120
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| Posted: Tue Dec 05, 2006 3:13 am |
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I Stubble on my past,
Like a present from my scars.
And all the tears left on my wings neither glade nor fly.
The stars is my home but the closest I ever came was an picture:
Memory, empty, with nothing but a faded light,
But it extraordinarily captured the paramount times their.
(Page Turned.)
An ink of a creature created my existence.
I’m nor horse; nor bird but an unicorn,
Trying to find a new chapter.
But every step taken pauses a breath of laughter.
“I don’t belong here!”
But why would anyone answer to ink?
Hours turn to days.
Neither chapter nor sentence
Has been found.
It seems every breath is a cry of a regret.
Suddenly a man walks upon my shadow:
"You’re not real but a tale with an ending. 'u don’t belong here. You’re not real."
Reply: If I’m not real why am I standing next to you? |
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