Poetry

The beauty of being
nothing, like the nystagmus.
Do you see me through,
when I break inside?

Won't you release your
white doves to smell
the melting moon
of summer's blues?

Nameless a poem swims
in your pale eyes. I
watch the cobra rear up
like a purple monkshood!

One day I will pay
back your debt, for the
myth of phoenix. I will
live for centuries in the
desert to rise from ashes.

Nobody becomes a conqueror!