A stormfront teases the horizon's true path,With dying roads breaking in abstract darkness;The changes turn me chameleon to night,And a gold mask fades with a dying prismAnd stares at the passing of heaven and earth;I can hear the stormclouds cry out in protest,Their fires begin to burn in the souls prison,Crushing with a vengeance the sins of shadows;Raging winds strip my clothing,my flesh away,Leaving me naked on the turbulent sands;I wonder if I will inherit the saints,Or fall victim to calls of the false beauty;The bellow of the lightning's cries are calling,My soul is ready to dance in the teardrops,Waiting to experience heaven and earth;I hear the sirens call in the clouds tonightWithin the soft whispers of a dying breath;A dawn began beneath the cardinal's wing,And the mockingbird sings as he always does,Misleading the weary to a different lightDupke
Nearly everything except rap
24, Heroes freakin rules, BSG for life! House, Crossing Jordan
I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken -- and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived. Margaret Mitchell