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Too real. Too real to sing a song or paint a picture.
A face. A smile. Glasses glimmer in teh sunlight.
Too close for music r for literature.
A mermory. A drink. A joke or walk or smoke.
No rhyme or phrase or melody
Can dwell upon, can glorify this memory.
How can a ballad sing this song?
No photo, no eye glimpse, can be this.
To be the stories told, the looks we shared.
The heart thumping fear and ecstasy. Bliss?
It scarcely grazes over how we fared.
©2008-2009 ~Empress-of-the-Dead
:iconempress-of-the-dead:

Author's Comments

People i might. I wanted to write something but....

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:iconjezebel-polizia:
TYPOS! You did an irish 'the' XD

I like your question/answer ones, but not as much as your freaky death/snow queen ones. That frosty one makes me want to draw >< *Ogh!*

--
TEA!

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April 22, 2008
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