Once a river,
now this quite and sandy road,
leads to an eclipse.
It wasn't to be for a long. The vigorous flow
lost the winning streak to the ravage, that
was not time.
He lost the dynamik not the essence, he
reduced himself, drying in, not up. What
now follows, is a manifest of sensual
awkwardness.
And dryness. Never to be seen
preponderance, only burden has reached
his land. These last drops expired in the heat
of medieval years, watching them, is like
an inevitable rebirth. Or repetitive
alienation.
Let him dry and become an ether not a whiff
of unpleasant thoughts. May the river find
its nature, the cause of it, hence in constant
flux, do all things stream.
Δεν υπάρχουν σχόλια:
Δημοσίευση σχολίου