Blood is churning ever slow, <br />My impotent moan is growing tall. <br />Yet, lights and sound are deeply vibrant <br />In the clear mist of London air; <br />I would say I'm blessed with life <br />If not the heavy ball of mud inside <br />That grew from spores of this dirty light. <br /> <br />Insane, death is weaved throughout. <br />Must I fade inside and out?<br /><br />Seer Garth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mud-6/
