Bite Your Tongue

Back to the night, and pleading,
i am now beings we grieve and atone miracles nothing,
take your cross singing and not sighing,
eaten in peace and sibling.

You can not be an artist if you have not missed something,
of birds killed sailing,
under your feet a hawk wing,
rarely occurring.

Tells you what the wind passing,
obtain the result of morning,
neither by the bed of a skull dazzling,
gift of happiness belongs to those who take it out of its packaging.

Undo the fog of waiting,
enough for the dying.

To avoid talking.