Angeles wrapped in white sheets Descend upon city streets Coming to reclaim what was left behind in the wake of the blind There is a cross erected on every corner We face a new forum of crucifixion for all those undisciplined We drag our souls behind us Waiting for some new found revelation or burden of proof to redeem or remind us Sonata in the ashes Sacrilege in the dust we turning like leaves in Autumns new trust We perform our rituals and escape our realities We damn and curse all formalities We are born unto sinners and not a saint among us to seal our fate There are nights when we never sleep and days when we realize all our pursuits are conspiring on a dead end street and that is where our sacrifices and prophecies meet There comes a time in life when we must realize we are more then just what we can accumulate and what we consume we are the essence j.finley
Posted on: Mon, 17 Nov 2014 19:16:48 +0000
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