Friday, April 28, 2006

Nights of Yore

What we see in our inanimateness

looks so real

for the eyes like to nurture the illusion

that everything's alright

the facade looks so beautiful

dangerous yet mystic.

An imperceptible sign

of the coming storm

invisible to the eyes of hope

for the eerie silence is golden

endowed with life

before the chaos begins.

The vision spans

as far as the albatross flies

into the endless time

and back to the dirge of darkness

where whispers are screams

the comfort n convenience of lonliness.

A self-infested tragedy

accommodated by

the painful convexity

tamed and loved by the mind

pointing to the stars where the settlers have arrived

and the albatross still flies.

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