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Grief for friends, lost.

A dry cavern. Echoes creep, Returning to the mouth with terrible memories. Feet; nude and sore, shuffle sandy witticisms to lubricate the surface of a hollow sound. Behind the far wall a tapping is heard and gems sparkle sadly through a hole, pock-marked in the rock. // We begin whispering our woes. The happy-town-chatter outside shrinks to a pinpoint of light until a slow motion avalanche is heard. There is a slither of sunshine inbetwixt boulders.// We are in love with grief.// Deep in a whiskey handshake going around and around. Expanding to fit the lake, a reverberating sound. A bell is only heard from a ring of union, tapping on the glass.// The shell of an old bird that found itself doomed when, In the sky, Flapping; the clouds fell on their ass.
prainwithum Uploaded 10/09/2011
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