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Gravestone
I wonder if they even make a profit
or these things just exist in epic proportions
for a reason otherwise, in the garden.
Hope for the soul and only the soul
seems the singular need in this universe;
and everything in this maelstrom
whirls in a kind of crazy, feverish dance,
sedated in sorrow of ever sprouting---
dead yet undying structures for whatever.
We've become a product of our own shrill
like not a clean tomorrow might will
dissolution of all confusion. Gravestone.
Good observations in a very
Good observations in a very poetic language that is, despite its beauty, effectively disturbing.
Starward
Aye
And your comment enhances precisely what you mean:
When I looked at it again, you helped send me shivers, aye.
Thanks for being a part of living perception.
bananas are the perfect food
for prostitues