• To where the sight of hated ends,
    Where life is final and death begins.

    To where the skulls of Angels lye,
    Where freedom is when bombs fly by.

    With one foot there and one foot here,
    It’s hard to deal with one’s own fear.

    Where darkness is your comforting place,
    And silence echoes though one’s own face.

    Crossing over the land of joy,
    To where life treats you as less of a toy.

    To where realities are forgotten and lost,
    Life gone, senses blurred.

    Is it worth it now,
    That nothing is left?


    ~*~MegN~*~ © 2008