Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Take a peek at the filled air of smoke,
Running up ahead threatens the smoke
And the glare of the sun as it winds down
The heat for the day's work and splendor.
I find my legs and stand next to the prison
Of monuments, that glare at the overall picture.
One picture is confident, the other depriving the air,
When fences are burnt to the major thought.
He told us the hastened steps of judgment,
As the powerful odor spoke and soaked the air,
Without us we were behind the rest, and always.
Overhung by twists and doings,
The seers were shorter than their lanes,
At the ends of their rope
And the ends of their life
And the ends of their soul.