Beauty.
Cannot this be within?
Forsaken by the ones who've loved
Not sensing the sensual beings.
So Unsuspected,
For with one drop,
Can thou not flourish?
One's imagination has taken its toll.
Exadgeration lights the streets
And it is not the lit lamps that now glow with misery.
In scriptures, do you not cry?
Can this wound not go uninfected?
Once the flesh resumes its proper place,
Cannot you as well?
Is it unthinkable to replace that
which was never in place to begin with?
A fear cannot be spoken for, so why
Should I speak for you?
Am I being modest to assume
Less, rather than more amongst
the others...
Cannot this cry be heard from miles away?
Or is this echo simply an imaginative thought?
Standing upon the hill,
One may come to two realizations:
One, there is no hill,
And two, you cannot stand upon your own grave. |
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