Monday, March 1, 2010

In Gales, Brutal Gales

O' ye brutalizer of sensibility,
ye maker and taker of hearts.
How's a day when winds don't blow?
No breeze to carry away sensitivity.
No screams in the air mourning
the end of now as now is known.

O' ye sensitive brutalizer, 
ye heartmaker and breaker.
Where goes your days, gales?
No sails to collect thy godly breath?
No songs on silver chords lighting 
the end of now as now is known.