Fire
Bodies were thrashing and burning;
Against the outcome of actions .
Their questions were still yearning;
They hunted around for his presence;
In seconds, he comes crashing down.
Their faith forces him to relate.
He's leaving the last hill by the seventh gate; He's making his
getaway;
That need to break away haunts him;
As people gather in the town centre.
He remembers how they taunt him;
The latest round of words could hit him again;
This martyrdom game demands too much from him;
The papers will insist he either disappeared,
Or else, he just left on a whim.
He treasures the pain against pleasure; A burial beside white candles
holds him down.
Slowly the sweet, deathly leisure enters.
Roses bleed on the fingertips of a blade; Cut goes a little deeper.
Damaged copper canyons look steeper;
On the perfection of the clearest day.
Cut as sharp as crystal and diamond lasers; The fatal longing finds him
now; He follows dutifully.
2006-08-08
14:05:06
·
12 answers
·
asked by
wife of Ali Pasha
3
in
Society & Culture
➔ Other - Society & Culture