Wednesday, October 15, 2008

For You Are Not Made For Epics

The pendulum swings nonchalantly, without patterns
The skies rumble without abandon
A melancholy and sad violin creeps its melodies in your brain
Which makes you see rushing feet, wet and continuous in their constant search for
the nothingness you thought is already there

Then lightning strikes!!
The grandfather clock sounds...
With memories long gone now reappearing at your doorstep...
As if someone, smiling, holding a knife, will suddenly jump out of nowhere...

And then nothing.... And once more the sound of thunder fills every corner...

The orchestra of nature and the tension of the battlefield plays in your ears...

You hear the roar of thunders calling out the winds of chaos
Showing you the pain of all battles we have fought, thinking they were in vain

Feet march without ceasing, the horns blaring, wings fluttering from the darkness
Eating up the little peace of mind you have left, a call to arms, drums booming, all
conspiring to make you...



And then the trumpets blare the scream... the call, the only one you will answer.
Followed by the ceaseless breathing that you shall never experience again.

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