17 maja 2014
DECKS ARE CLEARED
You are dying inside me,
my little god.
I am awakening after a long pause.
The forked hazel wand
does not bend back, perched on a buried treasure.
I am disembarking from divining.
I stayed without body, nervous;
like aspen leaves trembling at slight doubt,
hearing footfalls of dew drop.
Fear of old fear arrives again,
when the seeds begin to explode
in the womb of a fallen tree.
For the spoken word, sting in the tail
becomes star-struck. Death zone enlarges on black
pyramid. Conscience is on its descent.
Satish Verma
16 sierpnia 2025
dobrosław77
15 sierpnia 2025
violetta
15 sierpnia 2025
sam53
15 sierpnia 2025
wiesiek
14 sierpnia 2025
wiesiek
14 sierpnia 2025
absynt
14 sierpnia 2025
absynt
14 sierpnia 2025
absynt
14 sierpnia 2025
absynt
14 sierpnia 2025
jesienna70