TIRELESS DEATH CAN TRAVEL DEEP

There was a time, before I felt the heaviness of earth, when I walked in spring and knew the world was light. But then, each time I  journeyed on the river of  life, my innocences were lost, like flowers which fade too soon. At last, all the separate skies have lowered into one, all the experiences I had in my prime, as if in different lives, have returned as a single form to the tomb. There it must stay, without the rising sun, knowing the cold intention of despair.

Now day itself, with its speeding light, is unable to keep my body’s form intact. I wonder what tiny sound or little gleam of light can reach me here? Is there any angel who can fly as high as tireless death can travel deep?

…

Intention

Before I ever found myself a tomb,

I walked in spring and knew the earth was light.

But time and time again I left the womb,

and journeyed down the river into night.

Now all the skies have lowered into one,

the doors have closed and locked the silent air.

My body waits without the rising sun,

and knows the cold intention of despair.

…

Tireless

Now rest in stillness, grab the hours of night,

and tame them till their talons will retract.

The day is overpraised, its speeding light

will never keep my body’s form intact.

What gleam of prison-light will wake the eye,

what tiny sound will turn the ear from sleep?

And is there any angel who can fly

as high as tireless death can travel deep?

…

Best wishes, today,

Landar

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