There are times at which I wonder <br />On the fabric of our souls. <br />All there is that they may gather <br />All the puddles of our roads. <br /> <br />Lonely paths are sealed with silence, <br />Dropping tears just like the rain. <br />Ghostly forest of the slumber <br />‘Mid the fears and the pain. <br /> <br />And the air through the trees <br />That are dead now- doesn’t matter - <br />Just so breezing by the leaves <br />Makes it feel like scent of laughter. <br /> <br />-Dreams of flowers have you had- <br />Lively orchids in your garden; <br />But their memory’s so sad <br />And now weights down like a burden. <br /> <br />Wanderer! Have you not been <br />Travelling the very essence? <br />What was it that you have seen, <br />The Great Answer, or the Nonsense? <br /> <br />You walk now through all those ruins <br />That have been your temples – high – <br />Mud is flowing on the statues <br />On their eyes stabbing the sky. <br /> <br />What’s now left of your greatness, <br />Of your pride as strong as steel? <br />Why’s your sight gazing with madness, <br />Why is it that you can’t feel? <br /> <br />Anymore, anymore. <br />No more feelings. Nevermore. <br />No more hope and expectation <br />No more marvel of creation. <br />No more light – into the darkness – <br />We just burry our sin <br />In the marshes with deep waters <br />Shall we sink – never to live, <br /> <br />(19.01.08, Cluj_Napoca)<br /><br />Baaz Monk<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/again-31/
