“Shape your illusion nearer rather than farther” she said
Staring at the dust-cooled moon|
All these words are protests
The music of chains
Weathered by storms of colour

I am the man who loves too deeply
Who gives thanks through his tears
Tears are a message to oneself
The glare of the inner eye
Earthed by fire and
The memory of sacrifice

Shattered like the horizon of the mad man
The sun thinks about the night to be filled
And the victor wonders
What the defeated are thinking