Cry of Love
By dylan
Tue, 28 Sep 2004
- 289 reads
The night is a stranger
slowly unfolding grief.
Cruel and precise as need
it breaks on this wasteland
where no sun shines and
barren rivers have run dry.
In jagged shards of memory
the deep night softly whispers
I have seen Christ crucified
Buddah dying in a gutter
I have held humanity
I have heard her utter
Weep now, my Son of Man
Eloi Lama Sabachtanhi.
The night aches.
Somewhere far from here
a cry of love escapes...
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