Who is watching who
and to who does this occur?
just give me a reason

Blatently denied
supersticious and conflated
again into the back room

Devils here abound
and gruesome acts we count
forgetting a few options

Between these trees
barbaric tribes are hidden
seldom as obscure as my arm

Take it of they said
and put it to rest
give me a moment of calm

I saw in these places
something unique
and innocent

Yet beyond our borders
these rotting hearts
made of glass and sand and fiber

About Emil Hjort

Writer, poet and mysticist.
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