The bellows are burned
The ire is consumed in the fire
The finger points to you
They provoke themselves to the confusion of their own faces
They fall among them that fall
The harvest has passed, the winter is ended, and we are not saved
You see yourself sitting naked on the sand
A dream and a memory in each hand
You mirror a mirage moving alone
You call out but it is gone-Nausher

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s