Divine illumination disappears
with every subtle inhalation.
Black is the forest
and quiet is the plain.
One man sitting on his porch
weeping for humanity,
these savage noble beasts:
“Obscured my mind
and divided my soul
into pieces –
the doomsday melody.
Mourners occupied my land
of hopes and dreams,
trying to reach for the unspoiled,
while running away from their own
freakish trespasses.”

Hold on!
The rush hour of the day,
the serene minute of the century.
Carrying the bones of the prophets,
then shaking their ash to go with zephyr –
the doomsday melody.
Yes, quiet is the plain
as I lay down and watch the clouds
running away from skies in the tempo of –
the doomsday melody.


Obľúbené príspevky