And finally, against the storm,
The heartbeat of obscurity
Is caught by the most sensitive
of telescopes -
Same as feet, which melt into the floor -
Their ache that never goes
Subliming into chords of sunlight.
Or was it moonlight? A silent fight
For the insomnia-driven eye,
Its vessels drenched into the pillow
To blink away the haunting image.
Itís a torture, racing against the space age,
The terrorizing angels, their sweet heads,
The smile and extended hands
Angled for our perish.
A mist of colors is distraught,
Canít find its way into the dust,
Just like a lamp against the midnight window -
So indecisive if itís in or out.