google analytics

Saturday, May 28, 2016

whooosh



listening i cannot hear
deaf from the sound
of blood and water
sprayed into wind

looking i cannot see
blinded by hurt and sun
but now these Jacaranda
trees, stirring memory

wake me to feel
the cold evening
and the endless sky
here i am

born into waste land
and so i understood:
to stay.
i say: no.

i ask the wind:
take me.
i asked you.
now i ask myself.









No comments: