Poetry

Beyond the self,
is the freedom, unchained dawn,
I am in a crowd of voices.
Lifted by songs,
a bruised truth becomes a rose.
Choice was limited,
I desired silence, middle path in night,
under the lunar ecstasy.

Nowhere to go
I searched for tranquility, peace and light.
Failing hopelessly.
Love migrates back to old memories.
White days are pruned,
I would say the mirror was wrong.
I did not choose my life.

Dream of final
release was extraordinary
grandeur of pink moon
hanging on the trees,
the divine shower.
Life did not alter the genes,
it shifted the flow.
Untitled monument was submerged.