- cifra
In the end, I’m feeling
More and more
There won’t be any end
No ice walls
No frozen firmament
To clearly define
The corners and lines
Of a divine invention
So paper-thin
You see right through it
But I bet
When you can’t find an edge
By a map half-written
It could feel like the end
To have to keep going
The inkwells
Of prophecy
And cartography
Dried up long ago
They’re hoarse from speaking
Of our studied hesitation
To shoulder the weight
Of our bad-bеhaving
When Atlas shrugs
Whose back is breaking?
And I know
How it feels to thе hands
Heavy as the heavens
A weight that could fold you
To keep holding
Well, you’ll stand
Like you stood as a babe
Tugging at the house plants
All on your own
Honest and truly
You’ll rise, like land
Pulled up at the sound of some strange commandment
A Moon alight
Reflecting fully
And I guess
It would feel like rebirth
Out of some kind of dying
To see yourself so glowing
