Oh the stories I have heard.
Oh the stories I have written.
Now my pen bleeds.
The dream has become nightmare.
This fairytale is illusive.
Throw it into the inferno.
It has become a funeral pyre.
And there won't be any ashes left.
Consumed and assumed.
Close my eyes to see.
Grace has come.
But I have gone away.
Faith to faith.
Tears are swallowing.
Tear away the scars.
Hope is devoured.
Shed this weathered covering.
Let it be carried away on the wind.
Like chaff thrown.
Lower me down.
Let me be dust covering.
The cob webs spread.
Where have I been?
Where am I?
Where will I be?

(Scott David Buckley-27/03/2012)

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