Monday, September 19, 2011

37 lines

I am withering in form.
Can u see?
Life mocking at me.
How can I be?
Dark must,
Of a hollow pervasiveness.
A devil deep in my dwelling.
Scaring and scarring.
A nightmare coming true in its casting.
A ghost livening up in masses.
A death tolling in the middle of dances.
A life blowing in glances.
Messed up are my chances.
Spirit lost in the sand glasses.
True blue in the grey of the matter,
Not a spec of colour lasting.

How many times do you sew a linen?
Ravel the threads of my clothing.

Deep injuries casted.
Mania surrounding the masses.
A body conjured,
Lost in the movements of moments.
It’s dead. It’s holocaust.
Don’t carry it to the Halloween frost.
Dead should depart.
Compelling it is nothing of art.
It’s done, it’s off.

I am free I can not be framed.
Freedom from fixture..
In the freedom of soul I swim.
Seasonable is this gain.

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