Blogroll

The Children of the Dead

| Saturday, October 15, 2011 | |












Trapped like flies
In sticky sap
The more they struggle,
The more they collapse;

Enveloped with guilt,
Like a burning ooze,
With no reprieve,
They endure the past;

Nowhere to go--
Neither forward
Nor back--

Like the desert,
Parched and cracked,
They can only wait
For the winter rain.