dawn, the epitome of I
for I rise as bright as fire
despite the abuse of life
despite the breaking point of a tighrope
in a circus

I am the moon
for I am a victim of meteors,
that punctured holes of words.

but the moon is I,
as it snatches my sleep
and reminds
me I am white,
for my soul is a vessel without substance,
a crippling facade at war.

Summer greys have disappeared
taut silence, heavy tighrope walking.
Autumn's charms are here and winter
serenades. Down the abyss a little bird
is hopping mad, and a country held at ransom.
****. Blood's lust slowly takes over silences of past.

Don't abrogate freedom, don't. Country of disdainful
dreams, let us perish before you do. Angels will lament.