Floods
The things
not hard to see
on lit nights
where the cicadas
sing with abandoned
longing, fueled
the land of gods.
When rivers swell,
flowers are offered
not just mere words
to appease the
victim's woes.
Where I was, under
the veiled lights,
the canned-laughter
and empty promises
were burdens.
A glimpse of past
is beyond not
behind me
where lips were
dampened shortly
after dawn.
(at Calgary. Photo grabbed from google)
Floods
The things
not hard to see
on lit nights
where the cicadas
sing with abandoned
longing, fueled
the land of gods.
When rivers swell,
flowers are offered
not just mere words
to appease the
victim's woes.
Where I was, under
the veiled lights,
the canned-laughter
and empty promises
were burdens.
A glimpse of past
is beyond not
behind me
where lips were
dampened shortly
after dawn.
The things
not hard to see
on lit nights
where the cicadas
sing with abandoned
longing, fueled
the land of gods.
When rivers swell,
flowers are offered
not just mere words
to appease the
victim's woes.
Where I was, under
the veiled lights,
the canned-laughter
and empty promises
were burdens.
A glimpse of past
is beyond not
behind me
where lips were
dampened shortly
after dawn.
(at Calgary. Photo grabbed from google)
