'A Picture Taken'

The midnight son,
with the haunted eyes,
and the ready smile,
that could bend the light;

is the fleeting shadow,
of a rampant flame,
whose veins only traffic,
the purest light.

His soul is frozen,
and his heart is dead;
for the want to restore,
what could never be his.

He’s not at all morbid,
he’s the first one to laugh,
but when his gaze goes distant,
his heart has gone loud.

I knew him once,
a long time ago,
but he died of his wounds,
in the depths of night.

I carried on,
as best as I could;
now I write for him,
and for all he stood.

'A Picture Taken'

LazTotka

Joined February 2007

  • Artist
    Notes
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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