Poezja

The future dubs. 
A pride is shattered. 
 
The philanderer moon 
sprawls over the 
candlewick. 
 
A ghost walks 
through the wall. 
 
A thin blade of 
grass, holds the sun 
for ransom. 
 
Fireflies flutter in head 
savagely. 
 
I was not able to sleep. 
What was the theme of the murder? 
 
No sugar, no salt 
was worthy of death.