|
In the blackness --
the deep, intense darkroom,
kenned
minds,
painted by
a thirst
for the peck of flames,
grope the blindness
with scrolls
ripped from the heart.
They grow wings,
ferrying the
fingers
towards the light
that sears
upon the shadowy
recesses,
one illumined point
of renegade
glances.
Copyright 2001
|