It is by now easier to breathe
Same shoddy never changing
Flows of air. But why?
For grace of sun, or final
Question answered? For
muse that never lands?
Perhaps another question
Reveals the truth so
Masterly and undered in
And hidden. Yet other
Thrusted gulp brings in anxiety,
Aliving past, retorting
Aches and what was thought
As parted. Another and
Another swallowed in
And it will never stop.
Till one laid on his back
Reflecting the empire.
Active still. And to
Surprise of most, arranging
For his future. Newly born.
Maturely fleshed. And
Cleared of bygone…
- What be your name, sir?
- Amnesis.
Sir Amnesis
© Copyright: Fern, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103060700038
Свидетельство о публикации №103060700038
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