Everlasting

Man is made to wander amid his refuse.
The rust of his passing will be swept away,
then there will be nothing but the gentle sway
of tall grass, indifferent to the pale sky.

Advertisements

Fourteen Billion Hands

Solitude extends indefinite
over a wandering gaze.
Moments of uncertain tranquility,
caught in transfixed irises.
Carrying the surface tension
of a lingering kiss.

Orange beams
bleed slowly into frame,
warming the confines
of this cage.
A flutter.
The heart speaks.
Its words lost in
the midpoint of empty spaces.

Loneliness is a word
the World is built upon.
Fourteen billion hands
hold on to
nothing.
This is not what was promised.