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Array ( [sid] => 109929 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Whispers of the Heart [time] => 2005-11-17 13:39:02 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Each day marks a passing or beginning,
Each day brings about one new thing.

We’ve done it, always walking away & walking to,
The land we walk upon always grew.

The cure, the way, wondering what, when, where, & why,
Life is here & we are just the onlookers standing by.

Whispers of the lost resound from the walls we build around our hearts,
The sharp pains that pierce, exposing us, are thrown like darts.

We travel the land through field & meadow unknown to their true stench,
Our souls frolic on the playground, while our eyes & body sit & watch from the bench.

Reaching out, reaching down, hands out aimlessly rigid, awaiting their embrace.

Leaves falling, children calling, souls bawling, babies crawling…

The thorn pricks, the heart stings,
The torn stained rag soaks up all that blindness brings.

The rope from which we hang is the name the rivers, mountains, & streams shout endlessly through the breeze,
Growing grass, flowing water, screams of life & death off the cave walls…pleading for kindness,...
the beat from our hearts speak the universal language of sorrow…so…please…
[comments] => 0 [counter] => 177 [topic] => 61 [informant] => kareless [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => selfstruggles )
Whispers of the Heart

Contributed by kareless on Thursday, 17th November 2005 @ 01:39:02 PM in AEST
Topic: selfstruggles



Each day marks a passing or beginning,
Each day brings about one new thing.

We’ve done it, always walking away & walking to,
The land we walk upon always grew.

The cure, the way, wondering what, when, where, & why,
Life is here & we are just the onlookers standing by.

Whispers of the lost resound from the walls we build around our hearts,
The sharp pains that pierce, exposing us, are thrown like darts.

We travel the land through field & meadow unknown to their true stench,
Our souls frolic on the playground, while our eyes & body sit & watch from the bench.

Reaching out, reaching down, hands out aimlessly rigid, awaiting their embrace.

Leaves falling, children calling, souls bawling, babies crawling…

The thorn pricks, the heart stings,
The torn stained rag soaks up all that blindness brings.

The rope from which we hang is the name the rivers, mountains, & streams shout endlessly through the breeze,
Growing grass, flowing water, screams of life & death off the cave walls…pleading for kindness,...
the beat from our hearts speak the universal language of sorrow…so…please…




Copyright © kareless ... [ 2005-11-17 13:39:02]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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