14 september 2018
Dying Art
The wind was in your hair,
I will bring the
valley, for you.
A major shake up. People
bend the moon
on the lake, against hanging.
The snow-capped peaks
would collect all the green fires
for the running tribe.
The centuries weep
for the unknown warriors;
who were born to look like chaff―
becoming fodder. I will
ask the god to write a requiem
for a person, who dies
thinking too much.
4 august 2025
wiesiek
4 august 2025
absynt
3 august 2025
wiesiek
3 august 2025
absynt
2 august 2025
Jaga
31 july 2025
absynt
31 july 2025
absynt
30 july 2025
absynt
28 july 2025
Jaga
28 july 2025
absynt