Poetry

---Living inside a Master-Piece


Nothing to say living inside a Master-Piece.
As I've been younger - I searched for existential police.

All is left to overlook and to smile
Some challenge zen for a while.

Angelic women believe in something - that's so far from my mind
Although I've become an indifferent kind.

For me? Precisely everything - can be so very nice
As I get my whiskey with ice.

I don't mean there is something too bad
It just looks as I am - of rather ironic clad.


---Regret


There is a little bit of hate in my wound.
Nobody knows how those muddy things

Come inside;

A spark from far away dives into the World
Though it's hard to love one's own dirt.



---With no Craft


Empty sadness as I laid
Though someone - needed me to stay;
And I used to comtemplate this subject:
With no Craft - I found myself an object.

So deeply pleased - as the Other enjoyed my fruits
So I stood up and worn my boots -
Let's take a mile or seven
Follow me - we'll go to Heaven...