the senescene
By benafim
The Senescence Closer and closer They came With faces made of Dried up lava. Bodies of soil a Year of severe Drought. Dead oasis Shimmered In a halo Of brittle hair. They slowly Stomped on dust covered bird feet. Soon I'll like them. I turned and fled. Hit a wall of Indifferent time And drowned in A sea of ages. Written January 24th, 2002 © on Jan 24 2002 08:36 AM PST 0 • 1
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"The Senescence ..."