Poezja

While I limp, 
a schizo runs parallel with the moon. 
 
Climbs the hill 
 
to sort out the night. Terror. 
The shadows were fighting. The lost innocence. 
 
Delta was forked, dividing the pain. Sensuous 
 
bliss rising, falling. 
 
Where will you go now? Billions of planets wait for your arrival. Einstein 
 
was calling you again. 
The shards of moon were waterborn 
 
reflecting in your eyes.