The Perfect Storm

The Perfect Storm

The graven image of our passion
has risen against the fog
the rain of my tears
falls silently upon my pillow

the steady and cumbersome rhythm
beats defiantly against the door
there is no answer in the night
for the storm has evacuated my heart

this admission of slavery
has been treacherous to my soul
the deeds undone and words unsaid
have trickled away any emotion felt

The last day's dawn
rises amoungst the ashes of existence
and creates a swelling of belief
for it has created the perfect storm



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