Poetry

Time entombed, a negative 
film, showing the 
white bones of 
a black moon. 
 
I am surprised, how 
a jungle of humanity, lives 
with predators― 
uncomplainingly. 
 
A lost genre will find 
new syllables to start a 
heliographic script to 
make history. 
 
There has to be some 
reason, in the lamb days 
to become a wolf.