Poezja

Under a sickle moon,
the effect was colossal.
The mute words
were floating like vespae.
 
There was no―
promised nest of paper.
You cannot land
without ink.
 
The grey beard starts
weaving a web of
lies. Larvae will―
feed on blessed water.
 
Very warm, very hollow.
The globe turns. You stand
on the surface,
cannot fathom out the human mind.