Stony petals of a flower bloom
in the cold eyes of the sun.
once flushed in pinks, the blossoms
of my youth have wilted and froze.
Glacial beads of blood drift down my face
until these venal rivers are bloodless.
Within is darkness to which the sun
cannot give sustenance.
Now, I have reached the summit of my dreams –
oh, the thoughtful thoughtlessness of dreams!
Their dispassionate breezes on my soul,
the vicious summer sun will slash and burn!








Powerful work, my friend.