October Falls Edward Patrick Fagan III Monday, August 16, 2010 at 2:19am

Weary the bones of the broken man stand now… retrospective his eyes fixed on the door… through the youth of the pleasant mild waiting to capture the forgotten sin to fly.

Beneath the dusting of the fawn’s fallen essence, brown now of footsteps trotted snow; cast this shadow to the wild, least the hindered sprit die. Go now... Touch this soul.

Another day passes... I feel the sun comfort me, let the chilled wind flow through as if I’d flown to the mountain and regained my sense of soul.

I wonder what of my reality? What of this moment? The time escapes as the opened book lies before the closed minded… the lonely.

If I was to reveal these things to but only myself, let the fear of the answer know the damage I knew… I would suffer… what would the outcome of such rashness hold for the week of heart?

Beaten down into this corner, yet I was the abuser... is this the way these things are suppose to go? Lost in the fervor of the unrepentant mind; the eyes that hold the value of the same.

Longing for the vessel to the misconnected station; in the hearts and souls of those who understand… Is it the hemorrhage or solution that brings us balancing on edge, or is it that no one listened to a word I ever said…

In the end I feel I missed some sort of clue.

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