I have
lived long by the rain in my soul.
Dying
has been silent into the night.
I
was left with gnawing at moonlight.
Like
dripping onto pavement unrolled.
Living
was in esteem to passing gently.
Into
a dread the mystic at his arc.
So
much inside as fleeing into art.
Violent
grace faced by a dream faintly.
I
will sing by a peak in the islands.
I
will sound out at the grinning effect.
I
will dwell aside a patch of me left.
With
sane soul of dying angst made silent.
Coming
to the sun as a trained child,
I
have made my peace with Life’s trial.
