In our gazes,
of presents and pasts
darkness lasts—
as far as where horizons
tell ends from the starts
darkness lasts—
We hear footsteps,
approaching us and leaving us
we hear things falling
and breaking into parts.
We sit helplessly
in the cold chest of blindness
with hands on our hearts
where darkness lasts—
We listen to marching warriors,
to bugles and to hollers.
We listen to the echoes
from pulpits and from bars
We listen to the whispers
of earth, seas and forests
we hear claps and praises
for some magician’s crafts
and moans from hospital wards
with hands on our hearts
where darkness lasts—
Now and then we venture,
to stand on our fee
twe take on the adventure
of stepping into unseen lands
on our way we stumble
over others still sitting
in the cold chest of blindness
on our invisible paths
with hands on their hearts
where darkness lasts—
:)
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