The barrier smokes
uncollected scraps
the wreckage contains several recipes for hate
began by love, scattered souls ascend
to a paradox of paradise
in the proud face of decision
we just pay the boatman for passage
never asking questions
we sing out to a rare bird
and are forced to swallow words
making the long march
making the journey through the arch
intact we see, sense not a thing
feel the shadows crawling
leaving their mist in our eyes
we sing out to a passerby
but make no noise at all
1 comment:
Great photo. Is it a recent one?
I like the Styx reference in "we just pay the boatman for passage".
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