In the dead of night the anger, fear,and rage bursts forth; never really knowing why these are brought to me. Yet inside my soul lay the answer buried; as are those that bring their anger. Be this then the reason that they come. Or be it that their words I can not hear. Still in that secret place, they find me. Yet out of the sleep of the dead I find no fear, nor any answers; yet I feel theirs. What is this feeling that I must join them; yet they turn away in the darkness; as the whisper comes.
©2011 Words the Window to the Soul
