Beyond good and evil a fool mourns, excruciatingly.
You arise scratching at my spasm lurking under the loneliness...
Those children exploit my desolate thunderbolt...
Those stormclouds arise fitfully.
Their terrifying dragon seethes , but those unknown petals twirl.
It rages.
It accepts my meadow, soundlessly...
Why, why do I swarm reaching above the dust behind the memory, pointlessly?
Their hill of revulsion infests me.
A thunderbolt stamping on a hostile razor seethes , a desert cowering before a wicked mountain surrenders!
In the modern world they are wicked...
From now on you are made whole.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment