Poezja

I break myself
today, angry with me,
for small things.

Not able to finish
the track, I will sell now―
my dreams.

How do I turnaround,
to seek my aching legs,
for the fear of climb?

The call of the peaks,
in deep ocean,
for an asylum?

Why did it happen to
unhappen, when you were
fighting like a lynx with fate?