Poezja

I am done for,
jumping the wall of
signature pain.

I hear you talking
in whispers, to an invisible
god of absence.

A journey breaks
halfway. Were you going
to write off our hand-made tapestry?

O God, you hit
precisely. I want to throw
back your kindness.

Ah, the scars don't
go. Time does not heal
the wounds of earth.