Dec 13
This aged body,
in new clothes.
Battered seas,
under the yellow sun.
The violet light
of violence.
If stars could
tell a story,
would they not speak
of degradation—
of ruins,
of a civilization,
of my heart?
The science
of lonely men—
grief that cannot
be shared,
confined to
history books.
Empty pages of
old photographs,
collecting the dust
of the world,
fading in ink.
