Peter Levy Biography

The owl has made its move
In splendor, as is fresh death
A peaceful rest for broken wings
That yearn no more for breath.
...

Life is sold, and love is bought
I am the blame
And I weep into my constant thought
Of that, that has no name.
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“The rains have not come again” he moaned
His eyes frozen to the skies
He wiped his brow with some oily rag
And steeled his face disguise.
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There is no future
We drift inside space
Illusion in delusion
We stumble with grace.
...