Poezja

It was not like life. 
I am worried, 
they were hitting the womb. 
 
Social support for surgery. 
The hills were crying. 
A ring of fog was disturbing. 
 
The elements and spasticity. 
Brain leaves a trail of acid. 
They were killing the genes. 
 
For the proud generator 
over the deaf and dumb 
lies the chanting crown. 
 
Terror and the battle of garden, 
edge of revenge 
annihilates the light!