Pursuit of a desire
in the middle of philosophizing life
was an absurd idea.
I was drawing a relationship
between reality and death.
Learning from destruction
brings a pause, holding the hyphenating truth.
The energy flows in voices of charity
under the flowering words.
When you slur over a depreciation
no one knows a bias.
The bridge was incomplete
and walls were high.
The decay spilled out of the house,
removing rotten beams.
The first and last economy of throat
sinks in the mud of heavy propaganda.
It was not exactly a storm,
only hollow drums beating for the drifting night.
The blood drops falling on the moonlit earth.
The questions remain unanswered.
Who were the killers of prophets and saints?
Who had changed the flesh?