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River

Written by Heather
Thursday, 25 October 2007
Floating on a river gently flowing pulling you deep in to the lad of unknown fanatic's. Aland where nothing is what it seems. The smell of sun kissed tulips. The warmth of a moist September morning. All is just imagination. In life the sun kissed flowers become smoldering piles f burning rubber. The mornings in September is the acid ears of fallen angels. The river is the raging crowds of history forever condemned to the was of society. Comments (0) Subscribe to this comment's feed Write comment Name Email Title Comment Write the displayed characters Powered by Azrul's Jom Comment