a trembling bridge
you are
a ritual lake
of pale winds ,
a passage
for bare screams
in adulation nights
for women with
dormant sights
and bare feet
for sounds
lifeless , you are
On alter
Of depression streams.
a fling of winds , you are
between burrows and bars
doomed within sweeping paths
of pure blue sky
crispy golden sand.
wearing dust of pain
oh thou lost in orbit of blindness
and silent isolation
wounds won’t be healed
by pebbles.
longing fountain goes on
and … no
water glimmer
with withered stars light
ember of groan
labyrinth of thunderbolt
pending pieces
on longing murals
dull ghosts
you may be but I may not
what left
of peace mark