The loftiest watery abandonment
One that excludes our very existence
For we're so creatively deaf
To the oral imagery of the morning
In our passions we sojourn
Through the faces of men
Their journeys
Without halting our march
In the vertigo of our timeliness
Forgetting our goodness
With the contempt of animals
Stealing those threads of human-like demeanour
Woven backgrounds with the twilight
We sacrifice them to the night.
1 comment:
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