Living

do i feel?..
do i bleed or wait for the depths of time to touch me
from a well of forgotten prisms
crystal chips on my shoulder
reflect the past, the quiet horror that darwin spoke of
man with a beard.. nest for science and the pitchfork for god
the ashes of men and dreams lie around me
the promised time is now
the country smiles for me..touches me.. these vagabond urges,
smouldering through a masque of red death
a leering moment in a coloured eternity
the bathing of fresh virgins
white dawn on a cool crimson cascade of sunset
brilliant soft mumbling forms
enveloped in nothing but the others flesh
perfectly smooth and dancing to the sea
the dull black of her eyes is terrible and sharp.
cmon! run.... run and smell freedom
the poppy fields of terrible vigour call to me
i go to find the samurai who smells of sunflowers.

living in an abandoned shell,
the memory of me is a wandering spirit.
ronin.