Stones of Penance

If time is counted with teardrops
centuries have past.
Standing on the ashes of ego,
grinding this dragons bones for a tasteless bread
in a place where
dead water can only reflect life.

There is no counsel to hear
empty words on dust laden winds.

Hollow in this desert of echoed memory,
I will wait.
Where cruelty's eyes never close
and no seed can ever grow.

Hating the light only
to fear the dark.
With an empty belly churning madness.

Furious and wild against cold control,
a vagabond for forsaken pretense.

Many and heavy are the stones of penance
under this loveless sky
where starlight seems so dim.