shadows and dreams of tyranny fill the void left by the moon
this winter day light thins to a whisper
please hold: spring is still an unfinished spell
shadows trudging across the damp earth towards mist clad glass towers
no validation required for this morning’s madness
the struggle is real is when you’re writing poems at a bus stop and the lights go off
believe: the softness of this day is a gift
on behalf of us machines plan and dream of paradise: a place void of flesh
celebration and cheers buried beneath layers and layers of pale winter winds
the rain relentless in its assault upon the frail mechanisms of flesh
elancharan gunasekaran 