The days and nights disappear.
Giving way to poisoned
streets and farmlands.
This months harvest,
is tall sunflowers.
And next months?
Hordes of hungry ants,
who never grow tired
of kissing the dead.
This War
The days and nights disappear.
Giving way to poisoned
streets and farmlands.
This months harvest,
is tall sunflowers.
And next months?
Hordes of hungry ants,
who never grow tired
of kissing the dead.
A Wandering Poet 