Poetry

Time
was the great avenger.
It takes you away
into war,
with swan words.

My baby poem
cries. Lost in a crowd of swindlers.
Not finding the home of truth.

Was it a rarified
phenomenon, that it was
a dark nebula,
that gave birth to the sun?

Are you free to
agree with me, with my existence?

The conclusion was
beyond the judgment of insane people.

Are you going to harm yourself
by accepting the fireball questions?