Wednesday, June 15, 2011

stricken

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.

2 comments:

  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.

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