Guest guest Report post Posted February 18, 2004 My house My house is a concave dream, filled with silence in a night full of time. No voice other than my beating heart, pumping persistently blood through veins, I hardly can call mine anymore. I turned the cards a million times, the gambling table became pale. Dawn and sunset, night and day, dream or awake, I don't care anymore. I left a pair of shoes, a wardrobe full of memories and an empty bottle rum. Dried blood on an old and rusty razorblade. My son's smiling face framed by divinity. The mirror at the wall reflects an unknown man sitting on an empty chair and a window behind him. Night filling slowly a frame. The movements in the house kept the same, the shadows roam like every day, the dust tickles upon the books; the backyard flourishs every spring. My house is a convex dream, filled with the laughter of children, in an endless summer breeze. sk Mail SpamGuard - Read only the mail you want. Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
