Poezja

They entered the genome of enemy 
to hide agoraphobia 
I will be tortured now 
by hanging man. 
 
A loaded belief; 
being with crocodiles was safe. 
How far we swim in reverse currents? 
The moon will annihilate us. 
 
There was fear for dwelling in hateful ripples. 
It was the gift of rivals, 
a phenomenon of sacrfice for the lamb. 
 
Not being with the times, you walk heavily, 
waking stones in blood. 
It was too late to ask for the pain – killers. 
 
The language does not help. 
The words trot clumsily. 
You search the solace in coarseness 
protecting cranium.