PREFACE

This prose of thoughts,

So vile written in surrealism,

Empty echoes ring in my mind,

Seeking imprisonment in written word,

Like evanescence they disappear,

And the crescendo turns to diminuendo,

I turn to the rising black sun,

And gasp as the light hastily retreats,

My feet rebel and I feel so numb,

This darkness devours everything in its path,

With avarice it sucks at me,

With mesmeric force of an abyss,

The time is up and candles of life,

Go out,

Death be not proud,

Take the whole of me.