Bad poetry and Just Sitting - blog journey portraying the coarse and subtle levels of the phenomena called Mind-Body

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Fools hope

Lost in dark corridors
No ground under the feet
In thin air hanging by a thread
Like a puppet without a puppetier

Cold bricks on both sides
Labyrinth-like walls sweathing
Shadows of those before me
Flying in harmonious disorder

Dead is this world of lost
Moisty odor fills the sense
Cold rot is eating the flesh
Bones stepping out for the final act.

Is there light to shine bright
Is there fire to warm up
Is there a friend to give a hand
Or is it all ... just a fools hope?

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