Poezja

Bliss of blue
and white, balancing
the dark.

This was my curse,
and this was my fate―
mixing the colors.

Do not go farther,
in sea, the fishes
have swallowed the sun.

The park-teachers
and path finders were
not aware of foot-faults.

The word stoppers
were abound. I have yet
to find an ear, drunk as water lily.