Monday, March 29, 2010

Pilgrimage of the Soul


He did not harbour regrets :
A scapegoat would do the job.
Memories were just pretty leaflets
One could sweep indoors and turn the knob.

Departing for the sake of worth and value
All that stoked the fire in her soul,
She nursed the past with a halo...
Autumn leaves that echoed in her bowl.

He travelled in the heat of summer
To lands shrouded by the age of trees ;
Unseeing of the silent star who would glimmer,
Crafting light and summoning the breeze.

She would strive in secret splendour,
Living lives doomed never to be whole ;
He would drive on and on, beyond her,
Stopping only to pay some obscure toll.


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