Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Surely the world carries no burden,
Enough satisfaction is with worlds;
The head of a man shakes, and murmurs
To the rest of the crowd what the beliefs are;
Ready are the shadows of the dead and alive,
This world acts too fast and easy, like the cigar.
When the world is in a burden it is called war,
Futile sense of belonging.
The vast image touched us when spelt out,
Lights flashed far out at sea,
For mountains were read by the clouds that rained.