Poetry

Will not find like you.
Why do you bring
god in every symphony?
Pain heightens the silence.

The soloist smiles.
Will you wear a night belt
and walk on the moon
to gather the footprints of
first crime?

All I know was, nothing
is pure like sands. It doesn't
want to become stones.
Do you want to stand against
them in metropolis?

A song for you. You
come again to smother the
burning poem.