Ruins                                                                                               

 

The lark sings a sad song

As the December winds whistle over the volcanic ash

Dreams come fleetingly now

A whisper, a shadow then nothing

The sun of truth is so bright my mind dilates

The barren branches reach out to comfort me

But my emptiness is complete

Swallows return to San Juan Capistrano every year

I hear they fly thousands of miles from South America

But I have never left these ghostly ruins

To hear their songs of joy

Once I set out for an endless journey of life

Now I wander in nomadic bliss

Seeking oblivion in the caverns of my mind

The corpuscles of my blood cry to heaven

For release from the cycle of death and rebirth

But their cries fall on deaf ears

Only the moaning wind is heard

And the purple sunset echoes my lost vision

Of what life could be