This is the dead land
This is the cactus land
Here we go round the prickly pear
trembling with tenderness
lips that would kiss
hands
eyes
are all absent
settling for
just a feint trickle
of sunlight
on a broken column
between the desire
and the spasm
between the idea
and the reality
Falls
a shadow over neglected
graves an empty chapel
door swinging in the wind
the day always ends
in the same way
too much twilight pain
with a yawning abyss
that
cannot be filled
by flowers
candles
music
nor all
the sands
of the Simpson desert
Quotations from TS ELIOT " The Hollow Men"
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