- Books, Literature, and Writing
Ancient , sun-dried, sundry limbs
Crush the ribs of my lank soul
And once more I fall,
'to this pit of lime, and coal.
No one really knows...
Just as ospreys spread their wings,
Towards warmer shrines,renewed,
Red waves clasp the needle's sting
To a breast of pale-white hues;
And above the wizened plains,
Tall steeds heave their black hooves high,
And their chants briefly remain
On my heart,about to die.
Noone really knows...