The blood red years
Contained losses many time larger than me
I backtrack as a balloon floats into the sky
And pops against the surface of the sun
And believe please only this
That angel’s wings sprouted from my shoulders
For that is what they are for. Isn’t it?
Isn’t it? I lie alone like a stone in the middle of the road
I shake the hand of life. You liar, you thief!
As grey as my eyes, as grey as the sky.
A bird’s eye view for those of you who die before dawn
Embracing cardiac arrests. Will you find me alive in the morning?
A promised land is snatched away. Illusory?
Oh, yes, most certainly. It is. It always was.
And it always will be.