The dark water flows,
Out from the hideous nightmares.
Could you hear the widow cry?
It echoes into the broken sky,
Where the dreams of whales are suspended.
We killed for their oil,
We feasted on their flesh.
Yet in prayers we murmured
Of the salvation we pictured.
The sin of men is to trust.
They trust so easily!
Soon they will realize,
The divine is out of promises.
© Paul Po Lo Chan August 2013
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