(no subject)
In a field brushed with cluster bombs, time is a prayer. But the sky remains as empty as Beirut’s doomed streets during those 34 days, and your heart is a mirror that makes the void twice as immense. Holy men’s words are just litter - they served some function once but now you can’t discern what made them so convincing. They ride the gutters to the sea, choke some poor seal and fail to ever disintegrate, and still there is no reply.