Poezja

The lesion was 
spreading. From 
inside, I hear the wails. 
 
Past and present 
of time, plows 
the furrows, in future. 
 
Seeds remain 
unplanted. I seek 
justice from the earth. 
 
Turn off the lights 
I want to see─ 
the moon in its full glory. 
 
Someone has left 
the message for us. 
Go out to face the wolves.