Wednesday, November 24, 2004


To an old ode, I returned
To an old sorrow
That pains at me
A sejour, an encore
Only for one day
To those foregone voices
I return.
In slowing depth,
Almost kinetic, soft
My purpose I endeavour
With slowing death
A timeless shade
My old ode
Thence I chew.

Dying with the day
Yet, it does no rain
Drowing with my ode
We're victims my ode
We're victims of the smoke
We seem of such pale
Almost made of stone
Almost all alone.

There's a circus of hopes
Of soul
I've been a page
You've been my ode
In unwritten corpus
Yet unsung
I'm your blank page, though
Henceforth you owe to return.
Your fatherland is lost
He's also your voice.

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