Poetry

Despite the great divide
a dialogue must ensue, between
earth and sky.
 
This was a climacteric change, when
you cannot land on your feet,
after the rainfall.
 
The criminal assaults, rapes
and homicides, bring the species
on boil. The books are our god.
 
You cannot start a group
conflict, skirting the question
of mining the gold.
 
The void within widens, you
will not tell my dreams. For each
star I had picked up a soul.