My garden cries for no reason.
Kindness melts into a rain of twisted petals.
And that is it.
Alone I whisper the translucent words,
watching the death of dreams, living fossils.
The sun bakes the seeds.
The essence will not heal,
this bandaged soul,
the conceptual death of a thought.
This fear is like a curled snake.
Must I abandon the path?
I know, I will not forgive myself
at this dim joint.
I must move. I do not know,
what to think, how to catch,
the poetry of night.
The light blinks on my eyes.
I walk in the shadows of sounds,
smashing the road signs.