Gros Morne

Swelters the sun
Upon flesh that knows not
The truths of sky or of
Sea or of

Blood
BDarkening the night
Blinding the sight
Of

Crackled sand
Gray against this day
Of this day and the next

Searing hopeless lips
Dry
Upon the earth of
The world
Seeking truths that lie
Between crevices and
Cracks of

Weathered humanity
Crying upon
The cradled graves
Of all the is
All that was
And all that may
Never be again
…And what of?

-Reide 06'