Going Blind

Seething with agony. 
Unsinned― 
the creatures were asking for 
human rights. 

Tracing the spiritual odyssey. 
You have landed in a 
volcano pit, looking for 
the first autumn. 

Smudgeless you walk in a 
coal mine. It plunks. There 
were spots in the sun. Bragging 
was coming to the fore. 

I am closing the book, not 
to read again the drooling 
script. Ages were harvesting 
the tunnels.