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Thursday, January 20, 2011

Lost One and the Forgotten

To be lost, presumably, one must at some point, have been found.
 Yet there are those who live amongst the shadows, deep with in the streets that glisten of paved gold, the ones whom time has cast aside long before their prime.

Age knows none,their hearts are frozen still, yet breath seeps between their lips, the wind their only will. The Chosen rarely see them, sparing sideways glances upon brusquely passing by. A chill of  unknown crawls up the rushers spine when confronted with the distant look in the Forgotten's eyes.

Who is it then that chooses? The great ant farmer in the sky? The master of all puppeteers who will live,who will die. Who's heart will beat and whose yet to lie still, a walking shadow amongst his lambs an eternity to dwell.
As an old star falls from the sky ; into darkness another life has gone by.Few will remember, seldom, one will cry.

Here then enter into the realm of the lost, a little girl with eyes of blue, soon she will be forgot. The shell that remains like a phoenix from the flames will rise again anew. The once bright eyes forever to remain a muted version of their previous fame. To the Chosen who walk quickly by, stop for a moment to speak to those dull eyes. Behind each battered form a story longs to be told, of a life forced to live amongst the shadows of the cold.

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