It lay in its basket
Untouched;
Succumbing to the wheels of time
Its colours no longer reflect its desire.
Desire: of only to make things right.
Un-peel its skin, you will find what lies beneath its flesh,
The core of its essence,
the revival of his hope.
She cares not about
distance; Time and its relations
Between mind and space!
She is often absent,
Running colourfully through grey gardens
She only stops to notice black,
The surface of frozen photographs: Now blurred by the age of acidic
rain.
He dwells not too far. He prefers to live as a flea.
Sitting underneath dead rainbows,
He is kneeling.
He arranges his feelings, in order, from A to Z.
Its cycle is endless.
It is born to live and die.
Consuming is the desire to breathe
It wants to be forsaken, its body absorbed into the living.
Un-peel its skin, you will find what lies beneath its flesh,
The core of its essence,
the revival of her hope.
By Eduardo Parkinson
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