...The air is thick
and the high singing whine
becomes the breath and
songs
not of suns and tomorrows
but of merchants selling the
drama
Hopeless is the fate of once
noble saints with
man made souls
The young is cold and the only
room of salvation
collapsed
under the burden
of greed
And yet
so many people dance
under dry clouds
and pray for rain
Perhaps there are reasons
but chances are
I will never
understand
why...