Poezja

In shadow of moon―
amidst banal, repeated answers,
you take a shot.

Moment of truth―
dissembles, the religion
of fear and kill. I hear

a sea of daffodils
going wild.
After the aching, The vision is lost.

You revert to bind
alleys. Between faith and hope
flickering light waits.

You stir and churn,
breach the obscene party
and go for a god.