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.
23 february 2025
Jaga
23 february 2025
absynt
23 february 2025
wiesiek
23 february 2025
Eva T.
23 february 2025
ajw
23 february 2025
ajw
23 february 2025
Jaga
22 february 2025
Marek Gajowniczek
22 february 2025
Eva T.
22 february 2025
wiesiek