by Carl Stoynoff (Behind the closed door)
were it not for the blood in my heartthe temperature of my emotional climatewould freeze from the ice in my eyes, from a frozen tundra the Sun appearedwhilst melting my cynical faith in angelsand made me believe in saving a lost soul were it not for the razor edged teeththat held onto the throat of the dovea broken wing could have soared the Heavens from out of my predictions came The Endof a battle on the killing fields of survivalwith no soldiers left to fight the war were it not for the Trojan horse of beautythat fooled the minds of everyone's religionthe truth would have been seen by blind eyes from diamond mines and golden ingots hungthe temptation of Lucifer's luring promisesof life ever after once thine temple falls were it not for the weakness of wants and needsthat drove in shiny golden chariots of firethe baptism of oceans of love would have conquered from here I stand, a fallen disciple of faithin what became of failed promises of loyaltywhen Judas stabbed the reflection in the mirror were it not for the blood that my mother bledhow could I not forgive without understandingthat the Defeat was truly in the Victory... ...for a Dove that thought she could fly in a gildedcage that has not an open door to the skies. ...Il mio cuore, ...la mia anima, ..il mio angelo Carl Stoynoff
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