by Benjamin Miller

Created on: September 29, 2008

the black sands
in which we sink
are made mud
by our own embittered tears

it happens
that's the jungle
through which
we all must pass

there is no leaving
only loving
and if one can't
corpses feed the vines

and the jungle grows
innevitable as the sky
up and forward
ever on

we scrawl on the bark
of its trees
and hope passer-by's
know we exist

it's written in blood
and scented with smiles
then watered with love
so the flowers grow

it's beatiful
i assure you of this
if only because
there is nothing more for us

but hold its still nights
caress its soft days
kiss its breeze
it is eternity

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