desperate for
the softness of
the night
without a fiery glow
no mad dash
on broken tar
but dancing on
pure white snow
hard rain
rinse free
blood
from the sidewalk weeds
shine away
the shadows
from beneath
the skeletal trees
the softness of
the night
without a fiery glow
no mad dash
on broken tar
but dancing on
pure white snow
hard rain
rinse free
blood
from the sidewalk weeds
shine away
the shadows
from beneath
the skeletal trees
dietotzeit:
Good stuff . . . In spite of the note of desperation at the beginning, one doesn't come away with a sense of desperation. Rather, there is something of a movement toward purity, or perhaps simplicity, the slow grace of a calm, lasting beauty. Can we say sublime in this day and age?
herxredxdeath:
yes, sublime, thats what i'm looking for.