Thoughts fall like leaves,
rot like fruits without teeth...

I saw the moon,
next to her grave...

I write her life,
Wondering what they write of mine...

It was but a drop,
of tear...

Roses are red,
violets are blue...

Palace are bountiful
Beautiful like Paris...

The air around fought back to keep me trapped by...
Where no holy beings found consolation to lighten...

We who in the dust of creation have turned...
sloping away like glacier...

A soul,
so beat to its foul...

Life thread,
a flow of voices...