Poezja

Prisoner of praise 
was slave of anger: 
sucks the rival in high speed. 
 
The violence travels 
from roots to leaves 
The lake bleaches, puts out the skull 
a myth is washed out 
in complete agony. 
Give me the hemlock 
I am ready to burn inside. 
 
Crazy moon 
where did you go? 
Hunger had been arrested in bloody eyes. 
Now fumes are rising. 
 
The iron fist no longer strikes 
demands to know 
why you had to go? 
 
For the first time 
I had no answer.