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Thursday, May 13, 2010
The Staircase
On the May of cold;
the air heralds rain.
From the rain rose a man.
Born from the water,
arose in the mist of July.
The sun shone through.
The leafs green covered in white.
Engulfed in the white light.
As the elements burned the outlines,
the cloud called dream did cry.
Fell upon a winding staircase that grew down.
Here, the truth laid under the carpet of black.
Blackness engulfed the truth, wonder why it lay.
Why must the truth sleep in the dark?
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