Poetry

Do I have a choice 
before knifing the page 
for a meaning, when I was 
drowned in a nostalgia? 
 
Cinchona bark. This was my 
keyword for living bitterly 
under a tryant inciting 
the riots of colors. 
 
The digital death comes as 
a reward for insane truth. 
You turn the back on home 
and walk towards the sea – 
 
to count the empty shells on beach. 
Here life completes a cycle 
from emptiness to emptiness. 
You are ready to go in void. 
 
 
*On the death of Steve Jobs.