Poezja

Standing in dark storm,
not to turn back.

An imperial oath
breaks, I don't want to
take any foreward for
my departure.

Small feet in
tattered shoes will not
leave any footmarks, and
climb the sharp edge.

Any friend becomes
A bleeding wound. It was
better to seek an asylum
in smile of black moon..

The knitting must
start. There was a pause
in pain of giving away
my muse.