Poezja

Night comes like a
black dog
around the corner.
 
I start paying off the debt
cry for cry, with a
ceremonial sword,
cutting off the shadows
falling from the
distant hills.
 
My questions are burning―
on pyre. How did I fail myself?
Why some mercy
was unacceptable to me?
 
Standing in midstream
I let go your hand,
and drown in quick sand of thoughts.
Now a poem will
lift me from the ruins.