R.I.P.

Sometimes there is no music between our hearts,
Sad silences stretch their broken wings.

My song does not soar because the sky is dark
You seek me like an enchanting discovery
your captured territory
And envelope me like clouds embrace
the stars,

I disappear unheard
out-of-reach
wild,
haunting my own past
Where the sun seems to forever rest
In Peace (R.I.P.)
shall we put out our obituaries?

memories. What shall I do with you?
Amputate this bondage
My only
truth.

A glimpse of foreign wonder
images that lie outside:
real World, man-made earth – a stupid spasm
involuntary thought;
each of us subsiding
in a flux of contradictory art.

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