Mira Posted February 13, 2004 Report Posted February 13, 2004 (edited) This should be titled #32 This one started as something completely different. Somehow I still breath, Though I've lived more lives then I'm entitled, And spat in Death's eye too many times. But each time I return from the precipice of death, I shake the dust off of myself, And hop back in the fray. Though I've seen more horrors then I'm entitled, And know first hand the irony of it all. I've seen the young die while the old remain, And children bathing in a puddle At the bottom of a blast crater. And though I've traveled thru hell more times then I'm entitled, So that I've come to see it as a second home. Where the lead breeze whistles Thru the pitch-darken ruins, And He waits for me around every turn. But today, Somehow I still breath. Edited February 13, 2004 by Mira
Ayshela Posted February 16, 2004 Report Posted February 16, 2004 your imagery is always astonishingly *right*, precisely fitting. being able to pop in and read something new of yours is like a reward for having waded through my piles of stuff. thank you. =) one thing that caught me on this on every read through - Where the lead breeze whistles Thru the pitch-darken ruins, And He waits for me around every turn. this seems incomplete, as if you're giving the setting but the action is missing - and yet it's closed off with a period and separated from that which follows. i love this piece for reasons i simply won't go into, but this particular place it's like skipping down the steps and suddenly missing a tread. =)
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