The rumors have fled the furious wind by landing in the quietness of my broken past. Over the clouds the sun sat on the high peaks that reach for the stars. Down bellow, where the plains of plenty mourn for the glorious past, tears tell stories of dreams that were never meant to be. And the only thing left as a reminder is the empty look of a child that never knew how to smile. Yet, the small flower shivers with the passing of the chilling wind from the east. The future is just a shadow on the wall alighted by the fires of hell.
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