[In my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light...]

 

In my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men. The children carve forms. The men carve wounds. Across my eyes like soft, giving pools tremble tenuous circles. Kept are different times in my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men. The children carve forms. The men carve wounds. Across my eyes like soft, giving pools tremble tenuous circles. Kept are different times in my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men. The children carve forms. The men carve wounds. Across my eyes like soft, giving pools tremble tenuous circles. Kept are different times in my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men. The children carve forms. The men carve wounds. Across my eyes like soft, giving pools tremble tenuous circles. Kept are different times in my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men. The children carve forms. The men carve wounds. Across my eyes like soft, giving pools tremble tenuous circles. Kept are different times in my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men. The children carve forms. The men carve wounds. Across my eyes like soft, giving pools tremble tenuous circles. Kept are different times in my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men. The children carve forms. The men carve wounds. Across my eyes like soft, giving pools tremble tenuous circles. Kept are different times in my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men. The children carve forms. The men carve wounds. Across my eyes like soft, giving pools tremble tenuous circles. Kept are different times in my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men. The children carve forms. The men carve wounds. Across my eyes like soft, giving pools tremble tenuous circles. Kept are different times in my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men. The children carve forms. The men carve wounds. Across my eyes like soft, giving pools tremble tenuous circles. Kept are different times in my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men. The children carve forms. The men carve wounds. Across my eyes like soft, giving pools tremble tenuous circles. Kept are different times in my eyes of dying there is a well-traveled light. It is the displaced light of a darkening sky: sticks in the hands of children, spears in the hands of men...