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Drip….
The children are playing again. Playing that silly game of tag, oh how they laugh. I laugh to too, but only cause they unaware of the truth.
Drip….
A child looks up at me and smiles. He’s so young and so very dumb. I wave “Hello” and he laughs and runs off…Feet splashing in the liquid he doesn’t see. Better go clean up, that will stain your clothes.
Drip….
It’s raining again. The sky is washing away the blood. Now what will the children play tag in? I guess it wasn’t meant to be, maybe. That’s ok, let the rain wash the paint away…My painting wasn’t mean to be.
Drip….
Oh, my brush…A pool of red…I wonder if the children will play?
Drip….
- by Wolf of the Sacred Wind |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 09/08/2009 |
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- Title: Red Paint
- Artist: Wolf of the Sacred Wind
- Description: The world from the eyes of a man who has seen it crumble to dust, but he only paints in black, white, and red...
- Date: 09/08/2009
- Tags: paint
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