"In any man who dies there dies with him, his first snow and kiss and fight. Not people die but worlds die in them." -- Yevgeny Aleksdandrovich Yevtushenko
"In any man who dies there dies with him, his first snow and kiss and fight. Not people die but worlds die in them". -- Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Yevtushenko
A blood red circle is upon the cold, dark ground. Black clouds spill their darkness down into the mud. A silent organ plays nothing through the open doors of the church with a congregation that is gone. This is my city of ruins.
The sweetness of mercy drift like bells through the evening trees. My youth is scattered like the autumn leaves. Windows are boarded up and the empty streets remain with no name. My brother left me down on my knees.
The moist tears lay on the pillow where he held our love other untill it slept. She leaves with my heart whenever she leaves the room. The lost soul searches for meaning once found in a kiss. It knows not where to begin? Give me strength, dear Lord, for I have none. Give me love, Lord.
Come with me, rise up.
Hope floats amongst the smouldering ruins like a dark cloud, promising deliverance. The gates of Hell are to be opened by the beckoning of the sloth. Ignorance is bliss when it is shared alone. A strange spot falls from the sky. Red earth burns beneath a blood-red sky.
There are powers on Earth that can not be changed by the cries of Heaven. Mortal flesh feels the immortal struggle between grace and sin. To err is human, to forgive, divine. I lay here in wait of divinity in motion. The closer a thing comes to its perfection, more keen will be its pleasure or its pain.
