Poezja

By the time you had
left the podium, you―
had turned gray like an
overcast sky.

Life was short like a
twitter. How do I―
call you from the jungle
of screams.

Do not go into the woods.
The nightingale sobs
quietly. Flight was good
but there was no depth.

Want to nix my day? Take
away my pen. I will write
a poem with soaring
flames of my heart.