Holy Stone

So many years to clean the slate with the endless despair within its wake. His touch soiling what used to be clean and his gaze burning on the edge of our dreams.. No more. invisible king, dying! beneath the mock epitaphs of a masterpiece, death in his eyes, waiting. so together we walk on, alone. From the glare of the desolate, to the solace of holy stone, down by midwinter morass, to the caress of solitary oak. Escaping to another realm. Long days, slow waste.. . Reza Afshar