my soul shrouded with mist
clouds of dust covers clips
coils of hope lost from the cliff
Solitude my aging soul dies with
bespoken words I stolidly observed
stymies of sky break the silence
as it boils in yolk of steams
Reed of psychoactive breaks the hallucinations
as I walk into the gangway of illusions
Imagination of insensitive days
I fade like a sunset sun
Falling gently as Satan from the sky
I am a soul being made from clay
Wrapped with casement that belongs to the earth
And the energy to a being I solely don't known
in this I gave my breath to gods that quest for me

Written by
Martin Ijir