29 August 2010

Run
Fly, fly away
The fires will catch you
The wasteland returns
Look on my works and despair

Ashes.
A whiff of tar
dries the mouth to dust
where it chokes to embrace
its own lips

Is a dream denied
A dream
Or has it become a nightmare
while it slumbers
burning in sulfur

No exits
No doorways
No tree to climb
No birds to sing
Only a resolute fortitude

Will carry it across to the riverbank.
A beastly countenance.
Stares with softer eyes
where a rose grows
in the concrete world.
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