Sunday, August 26, 2012

Ain

A well linked to a wheel,
Spokes made of change.

A pocket filled surreal,
Seminal of pain.

Exist in which none remains.

Immense and infinite,
Sifting temperment.

Burn bright like eyes last sight,
All your love gone away.

Free time,
A massive instrument.

Contrary to name,
Ain.

Our endless resonance.

No comments:

Post a Comment