Restitution was bestowed upon me
And here I thought my soul was lost
The whole of yesterday’s night alleys
Were but a fragment of soft yellows
And the yellow greens that plague the meadows.
And that of her majesty’s skin
And what of her majesty’s skin?
Does it belie her ghostly contract?
The ocean, blue, but only in remembrance.
The sky, purple, pink,
Yet only in memories,
Which are memories themselves.
No questions can go unanswered.
But all questions will go unanswered.
The machine on which it was built is locked.
And it will be locked.
For always.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment