I wanted to speak out
in hindsight. Details were
of no relevance.

The consensual suicide
had an emasculating effect
on the passion, when-
the moon did not rise.

Privy to a hidden agenda
of age defying wrinkles on fore head.
I ask you, can you read
the dead's face?

You would say I cannot
live any more, like
arthropods you want to burry
in sand, hiding your lies.

You want to talk-
endlessly about getting
nowhere sitting with
giants of sin.

Where was god?