Wicked Strange
A soul of water,
A soul of stone,
A soul by name,
A soul unknown,
The hours unmake
Our flesh, our bone.
The soul is all;
And all alone.
Where is When?
“The Day is words and rage.
The Day is order, earth and gold.
It is the philosophers in their cities;
It is the map-makers in their wastelands.
It is roads and milestones,
It is panic, laughter and sobriety;
White, and all enumerated things.
It is flesh; it is revenge; it is visibility.
The Night is blue and black.
The Night is silence, poetry and love.
It is the dancer in their grove of bones,
It is all transforming things.
It is fate, it is freedom.
It is masks and silver and ambiguity,
It is blood; it is forgiveness;
It is the invisible music in instinct.”
Dan Verkys 