Poetry

Becoming was
eggs walk. You were
wearing human heart.

When you shed
the qualms, poems fly
out of the nest.

This was an
absurd math. Did you
reach the mount of god?

As it happens,
you understand it very late.
There was fear of living ever.

Will it come out?
The meaning? From in-house
search of truth.

Do you believe, groping
will find the missing book?