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.
3 marca 2026
wiesiek
3 marca 2026
sam53
3 marca 2026
ais
2 marca 2026
wiesiek
2 marca 2026
sam53
2 marca 2026
sam53
1 marca 2026
Jaga
1 marca 2026
wiesiek
1 marca 2026
Weronika
28 lutego 2026
violetta