Poetry

You have kept the 
script― to age in dark, 
silent night. 
 
Drawn into the upheaval, 
of grains― 
ready to strike the mouth. 
 
Nameless wheels were out 
to carry the gay pride. 
I am not amused of the day. 
 
Who was naturally― 
born― breathlessly, holding 
the flag, to spite the clan. 
 
A pink window was 
stolen from the green house. 
The light now burns black.