A flowing force comes down to him in dark

The boy’s uneasy hand leaves burning mark
It stays, decays, but could not move an inch
A crime that puzzles insecure police
The flame, extinguished here but rises afar
Unbroken continuity ahead
Gives light and warmth to deadened visions and
Rekindles dormant motions, through direct
Encounter to the barest chaotic sense
Cannot be touched because there’s no pretense
The rapid movement has no boundaries drawn
Its highs and lows resembles night and dawn
A little shift could trigger flashing shock
Unchanged is one, the ticking clock rotates
Between fixed happenings a shaken heart
Who has the glimpse of all protracted pipe dreams
Now wants to see the fastest dance of all
Unable to controll, the arrogant
From now on sees horror and fear
What he, and we, all know, is that, history
Is written on singed walls and burned debris
And they, become the painter’s charcoal pen

By Yi Wu

BU CAS 12′

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