mysteryons xxvii

The Truth is in my reflection.
He speaks when I am silent,
those desires of when we are separate.

I have an unfilled cast,
that measures every line
upon my face,

Where each greek tradgedy
can play out upon my toungue
where the sound of

Alas, the pains I bear are numberless—
my people now all sick with plague,
our minds can find no weapons to serve as our defense.

settles in upon the curvature of the ear.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s