av Line Svendsen

Ecliptic transition of memories,
seem to fade into speckled bits of dust.

And the haunting still continues,
yet no one has ever seen the ghost.

Hit myself with reflections,
like a ghastly, grieving hand.

And the black-smoke demons lure,
yet no one has ever heard their laughter.

So be the circles in which I run,
become my false wilderness.
For my animal is slowly dying
and its spirit remembers the sky.

- Line Svendsen

@Unge Lovende Forfatteres Forening (ULFF)