The decline was steep.
Somewhere the clouds burst in tears.
Sitting on the flat prejudice
we weaved a gift of poison for everyone.
It did not stain our shirts.
The big fat people moved about
with great confidence to change the world.
I suffered inwardly...
Perhaps the greed drank from our passions.
A spectre of hounding
Which never stopped.
My parents knew better,
always talked of comportment.
Llike our love for neighbours...
The turmoil drifted now in our hearts.
A self-potrait became the vehicle of death.
I visited myself, to wind up the matters of concern.
The graffiti on the abandoned walls
of memories erased time,
altered the wounds, and trembling shadows.
Sunrise will provide me a lesson.