Poezja

Neither in sleep nor wake 
I hear, a wingless fall, out of the clouds 
with a thud and splash on the lake. 
An injured word flutters to the beach 
wanting to fly back to its flock, syntax. 
 
Sick of my circling thoughts 
I choke on sounds of ducking gravel. 
My sea was green under the sun 
though I never cared for the craft. 
My gift had been gift of pain. 
 
Land opens like a mouth, in awe. 
So much cruelty was never seen before. 
Anger and greed, lust and beast 
blooming in veins of man. 
One perfect excuse to kill a day. 
 
Goodness was death, foresight for 
crusted ambition You in dark and 
dark in you. Tomorrow a blue moon will 
come, when night weeps and stars 
move away in fright.