Poezja

Stage was set for the god of death
to alight in vertical scoot.
Then a wall of fear was raised
to outrage the door of saviour.

The receptors were removed from brain,
rejecting the manhood
to join the queue of media barons.

Truncated lord becomes unbuttoned;
truth condition wavering.
Not again the ride through fire

Me and you are untying
the nuggets of tomorrow.
Death and dew will decide the venue of the event.

Go on beating the microthin
smile on the face of the moon.
Clouds are rising without me.