When souls dance to an acrid tune
Up they fly, down they go
Their skirts, all blades in iron shine
Their halos trailing spineless time
Its richness in colour, pearly white
Rising above, higher and higher
And lust runs over the common night
Out, a lover, a foolish wanderer
When death’s chariot is around
And these souls plunge beneath
Just one acrid tune! These souls abound!
They rise, their skirts scintillate
Up they fly, down they go
Till the lover is safe and sound
Vulnerable, dense and love-stricken
All the more, they ease around.
No comments:
Post a Comment