Crying
Late at night,
In the sorrow veiled darkness
I cry
Though no tears are shed
No sobs are said
The ink is my tears
The paper, my voice
I cry to the moon
Who knows my loneliness
I cry to the pillow
In my arms
Which has no lips to kiss
No skin to touch
No hand to hold
I cry to the shadows
Who own no earthly thoughts
When the tears have run dry
And the voice used up
I sigh
And sleep
And dream of crying moons
And dancing shadows
I awake to the pillow
Cradled in my arms.















Devious Comments
Comments
I love how you compared ink to tears and paper to voice.
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"An artist's only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else's."
-JD Salinger (Franny and Zooey)
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"If we could both find a way to do the things that we say we might not sit in our rooms and drink our daydreams away"
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"If we could both find a way to do the things that we say we might not sit in our rooms and drink our daydreams away"
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//thezimchick
{the truth is out there}
{and so are sheep!}
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"If we could both find a way to do the things that we say we might not sit in our rooms and drink our daydreams away"
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No one can help. Nothing can hide you. Isn't that Sweeney there beside you? ~Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street
[link]
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"If we could both find a way to do the things that we say we might not sit in our rooms and drink our daydreams away"
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