What mists are these
That grow heavy in the palm
Making bruises weep
These mists that place themselves
By treaty or inheritance
With such ferocity
Embalm the soul with tears
Announcing their pleasure
To be resurrected
These mists that represent a tragedy
An imagination that beholds a bleeding
Yes, a bleeding from mine eyes
A conflagration of blood
That flares a collaboration of turmoils
With effortless deployment in the mind
Erratically as if impediment does not impose
Itself upon their mortal breach
An unresponsive pace that energizes
The tragedy of my great lament
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 3:50 PM UTC
What mists are these
That grow heavy in the palm
Making bruises weep
These mists that place themselves
By treaty or inheritance
With such ferocity
Embalm the soul with tears
Announcing their pleasure
To be resurrected
These mists that represent a tragedy
An imagination that beholds a bleeding
Yes, a bleeding from mine eyes
A conflagration of blood
That flares a collaboration of turmoils
With effortless deployment in the mind
Erratically as if impediment does not impose
Itself upon their mortal breach
An unresponsive pace that energizes
The tragedy of my great lament
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