Wednesday, June 15, 2011


The stricken birds sing of mortal time.
They are singing very serious songs.
If they could simply sing without stress,
the songs would have no beautiful drama.

I "sing" so obsessively because of you.
And time rushes toward the pale horizon.
And your beauty is on me like fever colors.
Your spirit haunts me like a sigh of death.


  1. Nicely done. I think of diamonds and how the pressure gives them their beauty. I think of my own hard life and the result of it, this person, me, just like this, because of every serious song I have sung and the colors I have worn and which have been worn by others.