Blind man see nothing and dead men tell no tales so there I sit watching the ghost of my mistakes playing the dreaded song of remembrance i wish to forget although never speaking i'm reminded of what I've done my ghost assuring me that the hands of time and clock of death catches everyone although not seen to the mortal eye the shiver down my spine reminds me that within the darkness my secrets still lay floating around me a ghost of a man still playing my songs of remembrance capturing my soul in a symphony of pain playing in a constant loop.
About the Creator
LC
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Hall of mirrors
Things used to matter, before all the noise. And at that time when things still had meaning, there had been dreaming too, when dreams still mattered. And the brightest dream from those times was full of mountains and seas and smiles and the types of passion that absorbs you the way a dog is absorbed by witnessing something for the first time: with absolute presence, and awe.
By Giulia Viti7 days ago in Fiction
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