I can still hear them,
I can still feel their ice cold touch...

I choose to fall
through misty...

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty"
--John Keats "Ode to a Nightingale&quot...

They were scattering
Dark, cold roses...

The morning sun thrust
his flaming arms...

Silent joy whispers
through the morning...

The silvery moon
so silent and bright...

Flower petals touch the ground
Silently falling without a sound...

Shall I tell thee of the soft, quiet rain?
That comes in the mist covering the land...

A glowing blue stream flashes in the sky
A twisting tunnel of wind...

Sadness hurt pain and emotions
seems to never want to go away...

Questions swerve
Answers fall...