Poetry as she lay dying whispered "it always was a ruse for fools," but i saw her brave mask leaking bloodstained tears, my breath heavy with her fading soul.
despite his wars, History had never lost so much before: nor better; beside his dripping frame i dangled gloomy legs into her earthless freshy grave.
"where will she go?" we asked between; momentous as a pastel sky
the Sea took up our dirge within the seagulls' lonely breasts and beady eyes.
i came away and found men who live whole lives without all three. they never know! lost is the further life, that lies within between their shining shadows.
