The heat of my blood
The cold of the wood
And so
the dancers impinge

Reaching in attained purpose
to the golden crown

Up is my face for the last time
Taking in, a nourishing last breath

All, just for my head to rest down
and my eyes adjourn
and open the world:
My own time world

I could tell you about the end

My tiny little burns
that are never ever silly little scars
but more like healing harmonies

I could tell you

My sparks are the cause
The speed of light
Do they travel
Confused in me
Straight to the next
Then the next
Traveling with that blood
That I hold
Till the river of light meets its end

I could tell you
but it would be:
My own time language
In
My own time words
With
My own time tastes
And
My own time hands

I fear you will not
like
it
one
bit