Death weighs me down.
Her worms crawl through my thoughts.
She numbs and empties strongest spirits.
For one or two, for thousands - sad lyrics
mean nothing to the deaf White Maiden.
Stop!
Greedy and petty, leaving the weak
to suffer doubt.
Where is an iceberg that I sought
to find and with hot molten tears drown
her virgin bones?
Like you my friend, I find a quiet spot
to think and dwell on grace, to organ sounds.
But no organ, plain is my church.
So I walk out, sit upon the grass.
Look up at a cupola full of eyes.
They do not cry, they mesmerize.
To them - I am one blink.
To Her -- a treasure found.
White Maiden
© Copyright: Athena, 2002
Свидетельство о публикации №102110100227
Свидетельство о публикации №102110100227
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