The Condor
A wave of frozen sadness
resting upon wings.
Is it my hollow soul
that sings?
Is it my hollow soul?
Lifted by soft feathers
towards forgotten space.
He sees it all, the condor.
It is written in his face.
He sees it all, the condor.
He leads me to the gap of truth
where nothing is, but me.
Naked on his ancient wings.
What else is left to see?
Naked on his ancient wings.
©2026 Tone Marie Rorentm.roren@online.noMember of TONO