Poezja

Hard and brittle,
the cost of sealing the lips
was increasing overnight.
 
Cleaving the thoughts―
you would not tell,
what do you believe.
 
I watch in horror. A
planned trajectory has
failed, shielding the tears.
 
A furore rises. Half―
humans were fighting
with stones.
 
It will talk, one day
the agony of deathmask,
you did not want to wear.