It's another whisper,
a downright mute accusation
of the flowing flowers and the rainbows
in the slow moving,grinding wheel of hope
he sits;shivering,naked and blind.
Free of fear and the aspirations of the moon
he sits on the grass,frozen in wonder
or is it just boredom.
you can't ever know
a lifeless gleam sparkles his eyes
Was that the raven that cried,or the emptiness
that echoes and dies a trembling death
within the womb of the night.
And then he lies down,tired and deflated
while the sweat drops merge with the dew
and a smoke of indifference rise,from afar
mystical,shrouded in pain.A prayer leaves
the shaking lips.And then the same vacant eyes
which rise to the horizon,are frozen to the ground

Will you be there to meet him?
Must he rise alone.