imaginary;

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: May 08, 2008

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Submitted: May 08, 2008

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Listen to the chiming of the rain among the leaves;
Hear the dying skeletons create their awful symphony.
Trees so barren, hearts so cold, lives in terror as lies unfold.
Buried yourself in the darkest hole; don’t fall asleep tonight.
I can pretend I don’t hear the hollow wind blow,
I can pretend I don’t care, pretend I don’t know.
But tomorrow when your bones are buried in the snow,
From the frosted tears upon my face, my colors will show.
We are not a dreary orchestra, or a heavy, resounding song,
We just hope the pretty melodies will carry us along.
Now listen to pleasing lies, though they petrify your senses.
Hear the terrifying cries of a forgotten lover’s shot down defenses.
Self-hatred, so relieving, as it’s numbing all the pain,
Hidden deep in the blackened blood that courses through your veins.
The wolves, they will rip out your soul, like a false-hearted friend.
They’ll find you in your hiding place and wonder where you’ve been.
But the next time that I try to save you, I might not be so fast,
As brilliant colors will blind my eyes, and my energy will not last.
We are not the faded voices, or the dark, reverberating screams.
We just wish love would prove to be, half as flawless as it seems.


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