Sunday, November 30, 2008


Like blackbirds
singing to the dark wind above
they roamed through the fog among the standing
and the wounded
The healed and the fooled
seeking their prize
Catching stillborn preys as
natural compromise
Uncovering the grey ground
stained with disgrace
They sang

"Is there anything left
for mind to make
for us to take away from you"
In a maze to the view
somewhat untrue
Was the sung tune as they flew south

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