undefined
undefined
flowers in the attic
whispers murmur in the vast, haunted night sky
holding the secrets of yseterday
in a dreamlike porcelain moon
still silhouettes influenced
by the flickering lights of time,
are banished to a scary island
of shadows and poisonous winters
hidden behind an amalgam of smoke and blood,
angels and ghosts live in a dark, secret life
prisoners of a nightmarish dream
in an old and fiercely cold breezy attic
where dark windows gloom
under the rigid gaze of
frantic wind, looming secrets,
and the deathly lullaby
of family decay
where escape is impossible.
a garden without dirt
is not an empty world
but grows against danger
in a torrent of broken, yet blazing sunlight.
enduring the battles of evening storms,
innocent voices scream and cry in the darkness
echoing through a torpid ocean of spurned souls
hungry to break the
sculptured glass of silence
only to plunge out into the unstable world
and into an eternity of firey moments
but to break away from the garden of
usurped children and young death
you must lift a new petal
and fly away, leaving time to heal
under a fresh heavenly sky
with a life full of arid tears
free of captured embraces
with childhood moments obscured
only in a wasteland full
of waking dreams
and translucent vision
of faulty loyalty
while angels linger achingly
beneath the night's clouded moon
watching, listening,
bringing a sordid life
into the morning
never to waste raw emotions
on comfort and understanding
as it rains down heavily
from the black sea of night
surrounded by time
when dreams were elaborate,
imagination explored
and beautiful flowers blew gently and peacefully in place
there will be an observable growth of harmony
by remembering friendhips
chiseled from the shadows.
