Poetry

Moving on death trek, 
standing near the stonehenge, 
the hunger for immortality 
begins to kill. 
 
The summer solstice is there. 
It could hinge on the bones. 
Sometimes it takes all your life 
to know what do you want? 
 
Somatic. The flesh refuses to 
go down on the divine path. 
The urge was very strong 
to go hegemonic. 
 
Blue stones, walk with pagans 
and druids were coming back. 
I am not sure whom do I believe 
I start an inward odyssey again.