| Growing over the earth, indians of mystic eyes, the fire of our bones, to carry the skeleton of the dead child in our arms is to give it back to the fire of our dreams, magic spirit of beast shall bring back the dying green grass red in ecstasy of mourning, the soil, where the dead corpses of our fathers were once children too.
Ivan de Monbrison |
| By
IvandeMonbrison
on Jul. 29 2007 |
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| Communities:
Poetry
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| Tags:
art
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