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12/15/2005
Not going 2
When the black bird flies again
Touching the sky,
Carving its awful signs in the winds
The sleeping volcano
Awakes in a fountain of ash
The sun bleeds black blood in the darkness
The words dying on my lips
The songs of the stars dumb
My screaming smothered in
the roaring of the mountain
Then I know my time has come
Not going anywhere
Not staying at home
Still sleepless
A strange word as companion
That has to mean something
If not, losing all.
18:10 Posted in Poetry | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this