Wednesday, February 16, 2011


I envy the bricks their mortar,
The trees their roots,
Humans their soul:
I’m told
They stand fast through centuries,
Through storms,
Through the passage of time –
They rhyme
In consonance with vision,
With the golden earth,
With their invisible ether!

The elements leave me alone,
The lightning shies away,
The earth parts in anger,
The sky disappears into the blackest cloud.
The foul stench of death
(Never to be born again
In any shape or form)
Courses through my soul,
My mind,
My lifeblood.

Funny, how few tears are spilt,
How little Time grieves
When all that you were is gone!
How does it matter, then,
That you leave
When there’s no one left to mourn?


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