Poetry

Between the hills
lies the secret of deep
valley. I love what was
a voiceless pain.

Die by me, if you
will, when I wouldn't
be there to see your mutation
intobutterfly.

Where the horizon
meets the moon, I will
place my shivering candle
to burn at both the ends
in a trench.

The destroyer sleeps
now in the nest of golden
eagle. One day he will
wake up to sharpen his
beak and talons.