Saturday, August 19, 2006
Poem
The Chariots unspoken words are true to form.
Washed into the sands transforming into tiny specks,
they are a whisper on a distant shore of comfort.
They speak fathoms of thirst through eyes so bright.
Washed into the sands transforming into tiny specks,
they are a whisper on a distant shore of comfort.
They speak fathoms of thirst through eyes so bright.
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