and forever you will live.

there.

where the blind see the sun and the deaf listens to the wind.
where stories end with a comma, where a good deed is a sin.

a promise is born.
like a blooming rose which shelters its thorn.

a promise concieved by meer words enchained in a sentence.
a feeling so emense, that even in an empty room, it leaves a presence.

it was concieved by the purest of lights, and the hardest of stone.
it was meant to be received, yet right there it stands alone.

now mistaken for the ghost of christmas past, it is shunned and feared.
when all it is trying to do is to find its purpose, to finally be heard.

so it rest and waits where the blind see the sun and the deaf listens to the wind.
where stories end with a comma, where a good deed is a sin.

with a pain in its heart that even the heavens dare not bear,
it waits, right........

there.