Fires Fragment

These pictures of history
cast shadows
on my world,
traditions fall,
in every step of progression,
but the bitter taste
left still
in apprehension,
misfortune in the poor,
the seeds of wealth,
scattered in contradiction,
plaques the masses,
while the monk meditates
in knowledge,
as rich as the next man,
in a paradox
of spiritual degree,
the manufacture
of this civilisation
is seen,
while nature speaks
and angels sing,
the listening ear beneficial
in the darkness.

Published by

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *