Earth, a bubble in the sea
a molecule within my mind
a tare is my, oh so lonely heart.....
rolling hills, above the eagle and hawk soar free
the real truth, within thier eye.
death is thier only, balanced deadly art....
clouds beyond the woods and great oaktree
though the pain would hurt, the truth would be kind
a pane stained window, Shattered imploding glass.....
Round about the wooden well, of the windows three
war took thier Sons away, violence on the front line
the women weep at thier feet, on the crowded Streets........
enter the tunnels, long,clouded,misted halls
the tomb of these remembered, by those who've long forgotten
thier bones stacked in cairns, like white crusted meats........
Spiders, bugs and north wind blown aged walls
backwash the rags upon the peasents back, faded, dull, rotten
they move aside, with wearyness.......
for that black cart that delivers.......
the living dead to thier grave......
unaltered the carts behemouth may pass.
7/24/91
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