Monday, 31 March 2008


There’s no hiding from the sun today.
The war is won.
The shades are gone.
And in this silence,
I, night, await.
And recall the names writ in stone.

Could you perhaps,
Wash over me?
Wash everything on the inside out,
Unclean, impure
Bandage the wounds.
Then tell me your name,

Death resides in lonely woods,
In us all.
I don’t hear
The bird’s song anymore.
I don’t hear it anymore.
I hear it at the door,
Footsteps and wind.
The one who is not lost,
And it calls me with open arms,

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