>> Sunday, July 1, 2007

A dry leaf falls
On the weathered carpet of corpses
The pale sun dries any sign of life
And the cruel wind tears all webs of connection
A little child skips
Among skeletons
A dreamy poet remarks
The soft colors of grey death.


Apoorva July 3, 2007 at 6:49 AM  

your impulsive bursts of creativity r an interesting read....

Elendil May 12, 2008 at 9:05 AM  

Wow. Lovely.