Big Ben Is Set Free
Stone hands slide across wooden faces,
With a timeless intention,
Of man’s damnation,
To glimpse at a movement,
Searching for salvation,
We stand in lashing winds,
Of spoken rage,
And caress the moment,
Before,
The wheat grain,
Slips,
Away,
And desperate housewives,
Transmute into schizophrenic princesses,
Waltzing through a ballroom palace,
Stone hands capture each breath,
And inside glass bottles,
They chime,
Then fall on disciples,
Time stops,
Life,
Dies…
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