11 lipca 2024
My Gifts
Moon dust is falling
in melodious rhythm. Again
I remember you intensely.
An immaculate pain
spreads the white shroud. You
walk on it leaving red footprints.
Why I think, not to
think, amended by your tears
before you reached god.
God, I will not repeat
the sin, the crime to test the fidelity
of sun. he burns you to ash.
Ah! the poverty of words
cannot ask cobra to spread
the hood. I want to sleep under.
23 marca 2025
Misiek
22 marca 2025
wiesiek
22 marca 2025
wolnyduch
22 marca 2025
wolnyduch
22 marca 2025
absynt
22 marca 2025
absynt
22 marca 2025
dobrosław77
22 marca 2025
ajw
22 marca 2025
ajw
22 marca 2025
ajw