Dark grey clouds gather,
from each other we drift even further.
I know there will be rain
the continuous pittar patter of pain
and then the torture of emptiness
in which for a while we must remain,
finding new meaning
embracing healing-
until our scars no longer represent shame
and we can run again
out in the fields
with dancing daffodils.
African Sunrise
Don't be deceived by the tears in her eyes, Africa weeps in awe of her sunrise..
The inside story...
- ~ScotchBiscuits~
- I love the way the old oak trees hang sadly over a tiny street in Savannah, bending in the wind so that tomorrow when I return they will still be standing, with moss hanging from the branches like the grey beards of an old man. I love the way they bend over as though bowing their heads to pray, faithfully through every season. I like to tell people about these old oaks, about how amazing they are, but what impresses me the most, is that generally urban folk are really not impressed at all.
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