Monday, 18 July 2011

Requiem for the Living

Modernism's return,
the fatigue of existence,
bury the living
in hopelessness,
flowers might grow from dreams,
the death of the eternal
zero point
might sow a vision.

Eyes fixed on the distance,
the grave invisible,
the horn of death now
so clear
and so loud.

The marching has begun.
But where are the marchers?

No comments:

Post a Comment