Poetry

Not settled anytime 
between a beast, an angel and the man: 
who was indebted to whom. 
 
A cyclic ritual it was, to pay the debt 
to the eternal dancer, who 
was, harbinger to catastrophe. 
 
Not wanted to be judged. 
Fatherless, a shadow moves― 
in the womb of justice. 
 
Why do the moon was in distress? 
A catmint will improve― 
your vision. 
 
No artificial insemination was― 
needed. The pungent smell 
would put you off. 
 
A taste of triangle, lying 
next to the moon 
in bed of water.