Author Information
Amot Lor
Your title be given
It has no purpose
No strengths
Your life is legend
Upon the walls
Carved by a lazy hand
It's patient
Waiting
For the surface to descend
I stand at attention
I pay my respects
Two clicks upon the concrete
Fingertips away
I recall a face
A number to forget
Laughter that rejects me
A smile to behold
Nothing too unusual
Everything so casual
Motion be grey
Stillness be shallow
While we count the blessings
That fall from the sky.
