Poezja

This world was too much.
in him.
Sometimes he wanted
to go insane.
(He was talking to himself).

He cared too much
of things and people around him,
but it splits
like a dry pod, the life,
in throes of running
to save a falling seed.

Yields his whole earned silence,
starts turning the pages
of a soiled book
lost in the attic of grief.