19 August 2012

roi de rats


warm sand in my hands
        on a beach by the abyss;
in silence eternity rests
      gazing into the depths.

  today the time bent again
            to a moment under the sun;
 memories of an evening
          penetrated my thick skull.

innocence can but linger
         as stories become a crime;
    of dreams I am the weaver
          in the brutal hands of time.

as I get up to walk the sands
          I know I have done wrong;
 blood running into my hands
             I give in for the saddest song.




   hear, dear
                   heavens near
            the seas of aether

 remember these hands
                of distant, 
         nonexistent lands?

  rare is the touch
        that reaches
the soul

without 
          time and space
 is the heart of identity


My photo
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