Birds made of glass
Bees of wax
Butterflies of plastic
Horses of sweet globules
Waiting
eagerly
Looking for
A day of revival
When stones would blossom out
With the soft touch of moonlit
And
From the oblivion, people would awake
In a body, and a carnival
Spring out of deadly silence
Towards horizon
A narrow path will widen itself
To make you disappear
With all your pride and proclamation
Leave a Reply