the endless silence of the oboe
we live in expectationsour belief that beauty
will become our death
a lonesome oboe is
following my paths
sadly numb
but as beautiful as you
nowadays we live
in the endless silence
of the oboe
and the expectations
have become our
guilt
the we we once promised
to treasure forever
more than our selves
Poetry by Daybreaker
Read 393 times
Written on 2005-11-28 at 23:54
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