Poetry

The trembling hands were 
ostrasized for living more 
than the mafia. 
 
Why the marigold 
will not use the magical potent 
to understand the conceit? 
 
Wounded by street 
an unease settles on devestated trees. 
How the broken moon will rise now? 
 
The giver will not distort 
the truth for the sake of bleak landscape. 
Seeds were waiting to sprout. 
 
You can bend the rainbow. 
Night was raped for nothing. 
Sun will take the revenge.