New Spirits

We hold on to the mirages
The parched dried thirsting eyes
Blinks drive away our illusions
Festering bleeding pain in the chest
Searing scorching sand under our feet
Do you know the meaning of what we hold
Of the deafening sounds and bands under her window
Of wayward slanting walks on the pavement
The ocean tides driving back the rivers
Rains that fall like molten lead
Where indeed is the tree with azure shades
Or the grey lunar eclipse
That promised us a world of joy
The spiral hypnosis of his art
And the meaningless strokes of my pen
Stench of the dead from a pond in the woods
Long winding roads beyond the horizon
Our mirages still hold on....
Waiting for us and pretending in its own ephemeral reality