Its not death yet,
Not even a parched eternity…
The red Sun can’t swallow my ends
The mocking beams can't prick my conscience any more.
I don’t need to hide from the light,
The clouds have avenged me!
I am the slimy, cleansed mud,
Washed, sifted, freshly-coloured,
Desiring to be strong, defiant,
Moulded anew,
By destiny’s hands.
Ah! But don’t tell me!
Do I need the Sun again?
Not even a parched eternity…
The red Sun can’t swallow my ends
The mocking beams can't prick my conscience any more.
I don’t need to hide from the light,
The clouds have avenged me!
I am the slimy, cleansed mud,
Washed, sifted, freshly-coloured,
Desiring to be strong, defiant,
Moulded anew,
By destiny’s hands.
Ah! But don’t tell me!
Do I need the Sun again?
1 comment:
that was nice....who says the artist needs to rise above his suffering?:P
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