Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Over The Last Hill We Fly

Over the last hill we fly.

The shining desert city glitters below
Me, like a jewel a thousand
Pinpricks of Pale Yellow light form
Patterns discernible in the black night.

The sea beyond smells of drunken
Mirth which pays no heed to the
Oppressive norms of society.

How glorious, but this isn't my stop.

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