Wednesday, December 23, 2009


In depth on my horizon,
a torch out on rising night.
Lonely and oppressed,
the flame on which I find my light.

An enigma of stars sought after and found since the rising of the miracle itself. An awakening, deft hands working on skin of colored fashion.

We wrap ourselves in best intentions,
You can't hold a constellation,
rise or fall by intervention.
Burning hot though days have wrought
destruction of pretension.
Guided heart I still can't part from thoughts to seek and soon remark,
oh goddess take my starving art.

Sacrificial ram upon the alter of distance.
I search the skies my star-crossed eyes in depth upon repentance.

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