miércoles, 29 de octubre de 2008

GONE


I’m sitting in the chair and writing in agony


White lines and black lines and many shades of grey lies


The art of my forgotten memory is made of lonely instincts


The dreaming eyes are broken shadow firelights


The truth to be no longer silence


No longer blind to seize my senses


Nothing in the barrier bush. Nothing in the wheel that soon reminds me


Somewhere in the sea the late is lifting sorrows; lonely widows


No longer warmth to hold you, mirrors bleak furies in the meadow






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