black poetry

i cannot always feel his greatness
master of human destinies am i
let a joy keep you
let us pity those who are better off than we are
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
gone before us
the snow whispers about me
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
the shadows of the ships
still thirteen years
beneath my window in a city street
i wonder where you live