the clogging wheelchair goes nowhere, i may have been too close,
and there is no need to approach any further, the heat is just remote...
pins and holes, in and out of the glamourous eden world,
i know the roses will fall one day,
can i pick them up again, when the light is yet dim.
passing, swinging, coming, it has always been there.
clotting red, why is there any fluid sound of urging?
when it falls, it would just be another way to fade away.
detaching the mode and mood,
can you see the moth staying on the moon?
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire