It wasn't good, really, the way it went,
but it was right.
When an end must begin,
I let it.
The smell, the sight, the rasp of it,
I had to relinquish my grasp on it,
The tempestuous tumult portending torpor,
A soul laid fallow
in order to bloom again.
~Fatale
Last edited by Fatale; 09-01-2012 at 10:35 PM.
Reason: To include the poet's name.
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