A bronze statue leans on a broken window
abbandoned in the dark, a figure made of sadness
with little or no heart
staring plain at the dim light in the grass
unaware of a lone star\'s sigh
it\'s
Abandoned oak calls
smelling of lemon
dead echos distort
among the RIPs and years
Impotent bodies
are laid to rest
in shallow bleeding graves
of ephemeral marble
As bees think
of
That morning on the battlefield
From smelly puddles of fog
Down in the damp trences
Heavy rain falling from above
They try to keep the gunpowder dry
Wearing only monochrome decorations on
As you take part in the great play
-at long last an actor, you tell yourself-
A stranger climbs on stage
with cold steel dagger in hand.
But you are too numb
To realise
It\'s just ketchup on
As night grew cold
And darkness bold
A story started to unfold
A story of a man who found
He was surrounded by a shroud
So cold a shroud, so bold a shroud
To which he was completely
As I lurked deep underwater
Everything with ease I saw
From the silver fish like angels
To dark crayfish that lay low.
But especially above
The proud birds that walk on lilies
And the very
His thought has changed.
He can understand and bend
As his will commands
Arms die
Instead, large veins grow.
As they rupture, the wings of blood
Grow strong.
He starts to fly for the
No light, no sound
No body of my own
No light, no sound
No feelings to be shown
No will, no thought
No mind that I can bend
No will, no thought
No feelings to be had
No life, no
I turned back time
I knew my time was up
A step back or forward
I would take with ease
But each step taken
Was a step left behind
I extended space
I could not find myself
A step
‘Tis all the work of flesh and bone
All that you see around
It has transformed the timeless stone
To make its fragile mound
You hide in your forsaken shells
The real world not to
AB