I know my eyes shall be filled at last
by flames; and my nostrils
heavy with smoke, as weight will make
its course–bringing me down.
What crosses my path I may destroy
but those that I fear are those afraid themselves,
immaterial, glowing, floating and bloating.
I will now state my intentions,
because nothing made me flare my engines
or flee from fight: nor the semblance of death,
nor the delusion of victory;
nothing made my mind clearer as those same apparitions.
Time will take heed of its difficult task
of flashing in between the cloudy routes
to either remember the reminded or to save us from
our own redundant ghosts.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment