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Marcus Kobra
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"Death is certain, When is up to your Medic."


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« on: March 27, 2007, 10:05:50 am »

 
Journal of a Lost Soul

Tuesday, July 12, 2005: 6 Years after the fall.

Standing here, after the apocalypse.
My wings torn, the halo cracked and shattered.
These soft blue pools of mine look upon it all.
I fall down to my knees, burning in sands my path lies upon.
I look up into the sky, and not a ray of light breaks through.
Its been years since the Skies closed up and the sun went away.
So lost and gone that not even the moon shines down on me.

Not a soul left in this world who can look on these broken wings without a sneer.
Not a soul left in this world who can look at the pieces of this halo and understand.
It has seemed that the apocalypse happened only to me...
So forsaken and so alone, wish these burning sands would swallow me.

Suddenly there is light in the sky.
Down comes a burning ball of flames.
Black feathers like my own burning.
I find her in a heap.
Her wings torn, pieces of her halo strewn upon the ground.
The sands scaring her flesh as she cries.
I kneel besides her, and wipe away those tears.

Today, I found what I was looking for though I wasn't looking.
Though sands shall burn our flesh, and we shall never see the light.
In each others arms it will all be right.
As we look up into the sky, more balls of fire seem to be falling.
More angels, used, abused, violated, devastated, thrown away and burned like us.

No fires now will ever be warmer than the ones within our hearts.
No devastation will ever pierce this shell we'll build together. 

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The Lord hath created medicines out of the earth; and he that is wise will not abhor them.
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