The nails he placed tore my outer drapes; <br />rusted, those sharp edges perished <br />never touched my heart <br />nor to my pure soul; <br />he had in his hand aplenty <br />curses from a timid north wind <br />and waves from one dead sea <br />and those curses traveled back <br />on wings towards its source <br />where he stood on a mountain top <br />to breath but he turned breathless <br />for the first time in his life <br />he felt he lost as he could not <br />hold back his own destiny... <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />November 23,2009<br /><br />Rema Prasanaa<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unexpected-23/
