Frozen Times
11 September 2016
Pitch black hurts
The sensitive eyes
Reeling move
On blackboards
Revealing tempo of groove
Distilling the whites
Flying kites
Hover above me
Thin slices
Of glories
They regenerate delights
Of childhood stories
Hold with me
My grasp on them weak
I dare not
Even speak
As the ropes pulsate with throb
Of the blackened mob
Body loss
Puppeteers rewind
In twin peaks
Riddled streaks
Measures of hue man eat he
Shredded dignity
Lines to cross
In between jigsaw
Puzzle me not
We forgot
The clear-cut lines of the law
Lesser of evils
Weigh me down
Burden of anvils
Beat upon
Lost forlorn
The making of the sword less
Soulful from soulless
Talk to me
From withering caves
Your mouth shrine
Frozen times
The words fed to the wordless
Soul forever mine
Reading of the poem:
Death is not the end – Nick Cave
Into my Arms – Nick Cave
Till the End of the World – Nick Cave
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