In my short sightedness I did not see
In the quiet, I could not be still
There were instructions, but I could not comprehend
For everything seemed lost and blurry
Trully, I am blind, deaf and mute.
For I cannot see beyond the things of this world
The promised land is beyond the horizon
As I walk through this desert of dryness
Through the valleys of darkness
And the cold cold forrest
Here I lie, cold and broken
Hoping for help, crying for a way out
Here I lie
In my brokenness
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
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1 comment:
at least you can still write poetry.
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