Poezja

Outside, a discreet moon 
was rising, breathing― 
dark. I was wary of strange clouds 
of unknown scents. 
 
Like a blue absence of nothing, 
from nothing to emptiness. 
 
The religion of unspoken 
prayers― I start the journey, 
to void. From there a turbulence will begin. 
 
Blinking eyes― will find 
the answer to a no-question, at 
the end of the conflict― 
 
when the face is lost to sadness. 
You will not take off 
your shoes.