What was aware or unbecoming, what is or not within; The shutters shimmers shavings shooken fall from lamb to limb.
Into the past the darkness creeps while all of matter spoken; A quite whisper now a peep as voices lost, awoken.
The face of death and of the light between inside or making; Sample you for all belong to this, the undertaking.
When rolling down a hillface does the rock stop sharp to question; Or does it not continue on, the myth of man, the mission.
Wish not the leaf for longer stay, want not the wind ungoing; Want and wish and will and faith and all a fish for sewing.
So out you are, out up and down into the darkness flowing; out the rage that festers there for all now hear it showing.
Fake the measures forming as the weight undoes its nerve; the Sullen Mountain glowing in the distance, undisturbed.
This disposition, this and none other takes place of all thats mattered; A sparrow wounded lays its head and just as soon is splattered.
There above the sunlit meadow, there around the bend; There a pile of carion festers, anchient sake of skin.
When once a voice so full of joy is now the heat mistaken; When was the bliss when now for one the mask of faith is shaken.
Stepping off the deep end blend the feathers within grove; Where at the front they call to carry granite stones to smooth.
Fake the measures knowing as the weight undoes their nerve; Sullen Mountains glowing in the distance, undisturbed.
Categories: Matthew Newton