Poezja

Inside me, I take a turn.
By tightening the noose
hangman feels liberated.

In the grave, charred mistakes
waking under the massive ashes
of slaughtered sun, grieve

for the light. Time was death.
Every lovely tree was time,
leaving footprints on our existence.

Seeing the stillness in total eternity
like the calm lake dying on the
other side of the truth.

Of the dismembered faith,
and fear of future, and action
to move with the higher lies.