18 października 2015
Trampling
It was happening.
It was a perverse state,
one by one we were tearing apart,
our wholeness, our human heritage.
A distorted image of beautiful order.
We went assembling the torn limbs.
Each desire was sutured
like a wound, to become a scar.
It was a collective grief of history.
Abrasion of ‘me’, grotesquely
disfigures the face
of soft weightless peace.
Love has never been the same.
The little things have become
enormous ghosts trampling our senses.
Ugly scrawls are scaring.
21 kwietnia 2025
Arsis
21 kwietnia 2025
Marcin Olszewski
21 kwietnia 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
21 kwietnia 2025
wiesiek
21 kwietnia 2025
Trepifajksel
20 kwietnia 2025
Bernadetta
20 kwietnia 2025
Bezka
19 kwietnia 2025
sam53
19 kwietnia 2025
wiesiek
19 kwietnia 2025
dobrosław77