Remnants of a Voice

Fear for my wakeful eyes
it's not paint that's my desguise
it's the heart that digs and tries
to tie all the banners of power


and in the hour
where the masks melt
what is this guilt one had felt
to carry one for more than lust
for greed and holy bowers
on to forgiveness
and strong wind long suffering


meandering this thought
an art unpredictable to cure
fool for for sure
for in compositions of rememberance
winning war and race dances
kill the ants and make it rain


extinct suffering man never knows
cause pain itself he thinks the cure
so where does she go? 


Fear full my deep set eyes
knowing only one to speak
and times no rememberance
the flesh she makes weak
for longing always unity
with her body


and these ties random nexts
texts to study to forget
application
adoration of intelect
inseparable castle drink the cup


windy and excessive one line has become
run
death does make its way
in moments of alluring pain
and done once again
no gain
run
push the wind to repeat
air and word
no seats left upon my eyes
all have seen
dream.