Untitled
by Flora Gael
Posted: Thursday, March 2, 2006 Word Count: 43 |
The sea is on fire.
The night is bone-white
and you sing like a cemetery,
your voice stained with dirt and death.
The flames have thawed.
The day is blood-red
and you pray like an piano
your chants filled with dreams of death.
The night is bone-white
and you sing like a cemetery,
your voice stained with dirt and death.
The flames have thawed.
The day is blood-red
and you pray like an piano
your chants filled with dreams of death.