Aether
Invisible-
Oh Make me
The Wisp-of-no-Will
The cloud-nothing
Shall I be Breath-
the very air-
Immortal, yet
set betwixt these mortal pistons?
I am suffocated-
denied my Self-
Like water grown stale
Devoid of memory
I am pure pressure-
Mechanical
Inorganic-
Unbreathable
I am unlife, unlike You
So why not make me
In Your Image-
A Cloud-Nothing?
Posted by Hans Andersen
|
at
7:30 AM
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