• Great Poetry of Ages was born and sold on the corners of napkins,
• Dusty taverns and forgotten dinner parties,
• Where the lights went out.
• If only it all existed in dreamy fragments,
• Still existed - if the dead were living.
• Some words burnt, were forgotten, tucked in pockets, washed away,
• Words that were heard were rejected,
• Words were silenced, even. Silenced now by death.

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• Dressed in sunlight, in nothing, red dress,
• Highlighting the gem stones, her eyes,
• Which flicker 'tween the image and the silence of her thoughts.
• A Paradise of poetry untold.
• While he writes lines on her sunkissed skin,
• And she decides that "the red dress will do just fine".

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• Look how they praise, all in lines.
• What is praise if it is linear?
• They are searching for paradise,
• But they are finding nothing.

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• The phone rings and there is no response.
• It rings again,
• Nothing.
• But it will never stop ringing.
• The phone rings.

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• Murky waters brought us in to being,
• We were born in mud,
• And clambered from the sea, inferior.
• Our palaces, now, disguise,
• The dirt on our faces.
• For we have learned to dwell,
• In glamorous places.
• The depths of the oceans,
• Are going to die.
• But no rain of fire,
• Will fall from the sky.