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Rated: · Poetry · Dark · #1727801
the sound of many breaking things
There is,
The sound of
beating.

Like a clock
wrapped in
cotton.

It shatters,
it breaks,
it dies.

There is a
sound of
crackling.

The fire,
roars with sparks
of yellow and orange.

Nothing feeds it.
Nothing keeps it.
Nothing saves it.

There is a
sound of
crying.

It weeps
long and
sadldly.

She is broken.
She is alone.
She is lost.

There are no
ways out
of this place.

Escape,
is not
possible.

The sound of
shattering,
glass, breaks.

There is a
sound of
laughter.

Small children
playing.
and living.

They're ghosts,
spirits,
not real.

There is a
sound of
white noise.

It fills my
ears
to their very limit.

I fall
into the never ending
shadows of the everlasting.

There is darkenss
There is death.
There is shattering.
© Copyright 2010 Chancer (moonfreak7 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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