Aleksandra Posted May 28, 2009 Share Posted May 28, 2009 All night, while my old bones creep and the scream hits my heart, musty boxes of memories are my nightly friend... Craven sang the song - one day, The child had grown and flown as a bird to the lands - so far... Years - hard as stones are a burden on my chest. You can see them in the lines on my face. Empty promises, the bitter taste of tears, open hands await... mouth full of prayers. " God, let this damned cuckoo fill her heart and eyes again, and then - then kill her. It is dawn. The musty boxes of memories can't die in peace... Ok I must note that this prompt I have done before in the prose prompts. So I used the same ones. I am exercising with this - using the same one story and same one to put in poetry form. So I am not sure how it works - you gonna tell about that :D . here is the link where the same story is posted. Thank you for reading. Aleksandra Quote The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau History of Macedonia Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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