Sunday, July 10, 2011


I look down
That is me
Sunk in the water
A vine grows from my eyes,
A flower blossom
As I spread my hands
With temptation
It cries.
"Spread your hands not!
Boatman, from where do you come?"

The temptation of
our forefather
his great gift for us
Lust and Desire;
Thus exists
The need for darkness
And the art of theft.

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