viernes, 14 de noviembre de 2014


While everything external
dies away in the far off
echo of the soul
still there’s a mill wheel turning

it is like a good

kind of tiredness in
the moment before sleep
by some distant stream

a note of peace
in a life which
will never be peaceful
as the daylight fades 
the dream disintegrates
but the shadow holds
no power
over what’s about to happen

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