the colour of rain
i know mySelf
don’t need no name
there’s a hole in my soul
the colour of rain
there’s an empty shell
yet some things remain
shining silver and old
the colour of rain
just a doll on a shelf
a song full of pain
not to have or to hold
the colour of rain
talking to myself
homeless once again
turn the path on a poem
the colour of rain
November 21st, 2006 at 12:10 am
We are all wounded in some way, although the nature of our wounds may be hidden from us, we still sense those wounds… and seldom know how to heal ourselves.
December 9th, 2006 at 11:44 am
A little help from our friends may not heal, but they surely make it hurt less. I sometimes wonder that the manifestation of those wounds brings so much beauty to others. May all your hurts be little ones.
b