Tuesday 26 February 2013

Swift Sands


Swift sands passing through
the hourglass.
Groping at each grain,
I move like a ghost
through the valley
of the dead.

A dead body cannot relocate
A dead mouth cannot scream.
Dead hands cannot grasp,
cannot pick up the world
and transcribe their meaning upon it.

I fade into transparency, 
the sand falls through my fingers.
I move like a ghost
through the valley
of the dead. 

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