Poezja

From a homemade 
golden pen you went on 
exploring, 
the young erotica. 
It was a moment of 
the funeral, plodding 
through the extinct memories 
of misadventures. 
Time had stood still 
on the sea of faces. 
The great wall of frozen 
dreams brings a chill 
in blazing sun of enigma. 
 
A bridge becomes a 
derived fossil!