Poezja

It was darkest
night, when truth died.
Who will move the first step?

Rocks were older
than man. Don't throw the stones
on real roses. They bleed.

Ghosts were collecting
the black bones of peers.
They had long arms.

Don't ape my suffering.
I am always hurt on small
things. Weather is changing.

The contrast is deep.
Wash your hands before touching
the goddess. She smiles in sleep.