Poetry

Talk of politics, 
and the auction begins. 
 
Every rock has a price. 
The marble will fetch more flesh. 
 
The granite breaks below 
your eyes. I limit the tears. 
 
No time left for complaints. 
I am ready for the good –bye. 
 
Will you meet me beyond 
the space, faraway in void? 
 
No words will follow me 
I am going unwritten. 
 
No profile, no editing. 
A bloom will pop up, from 
below the fallen tree.