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bolsheviksgrays's Journal
Created on 2007-01-29 15:18:02 (#12158686), last updated 2009-08-26
63 comments received, 63 comments posted
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34 Journal Entries, 3 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 3 Userpics
As a cloud crosses the sun, silence falls on London; and falls on the mind. Effort ceases. Time flaps on the mast. There we stop; there we stand. Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame. Where there is nothing, he thought.
Free spirits roam down and about the empty streets. The dusty evening winds blew the colours of the bolsheviks' grays. Obsolescent. This is a story about a random lamppost and a mail to eternity: much ado about nothing.
The sun sets, and all that colourless basked in its golden richness, shall be bathed, and drowned in the morbid darkness. Hush. For quietness reign, and again nothing, nothing fills this empty space.
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