Saturday, December 20, 2008
Ghost of Perdition
In time the hissing of her sanity,
faded out her voice and soiled her name.
And like marked pages in a diary,
everything seemed clean that is unstained.
The incoherent talk of ordinary days.
Why would we really need to live?
Decide what is clear and what's within a haze,
What you should take and what to give.
If one cut the source of the flow,
And everything would change.
Would conviction fall
In the shadow of the righteous ?
The phantasm of your mind
Might be calling you to go,
Defying the forgotten morals
Where the victim is the prey.
