31 grudnia 2016
Second Sight
What was the prophecy of
a slow moving floating name?
To hang a spy from the beam?
Your face lits up.
The world was translating
the labate grief into small mirrors.
A seed explodes. A magnetized
book of conduct is slapped on your face.
And you start reading the script
in darkness in a beautiful retreat.
The approaching night engulfs
the moon. An anonymous fear
takes hold of this moment before
disappearing in an abyss.
You stoke a desire to collect
the immortal blues and headless clues
and we crawl on the sands of time
breaking the silence by our drones.
1 marca 2025
Yaro
1 marca 2025
Marek Gajowniczek
1 marca 2025
absynt
1 marca 2025
dobrosław77
1 marca 2025
ajw
1 marca 2025
sam53
1 marca 2025
Bezka
1 marca 2025
ajw
1 marca 2025
ajw
1 marca 2025
Misiek