Several are drifting with the wind. They are already dead. I saw no spirituality. All about constant choas anger, rage, daily fear - no compassion. It was like a fog, I couldn't see in or out.
Time is healing, healing is time.
My tears are cries where eye's anger is deadly. Like a rooster in the farm across the read, I found lf walking into a dream of loss, Between you and me. I will return to the land of ponji-sticks and bomb craters Where body and mind have been put on the stake. To live once again a life I miss A life lost in the killing laps of time where the ghosts of the bodes go on living On the turntable of seasons pain's needle has scratched the dirge of old dreams. Looking on checking with the past is so good for our future.