PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The wind was black 
and I wanted to make an eye contact 
with the unknown. 
Following the stars 
in midnight― 

there was something called 
desire, in clean moon, 
untying the knots― 
in breast. The truth 
was not in kernel, 

it was in the flowing veins 
of the leaves; sun, trapped 
in green carbon. The― 
wordless poem dousing 
the fire between the cinders. 

The cosmic door opens, shuts. 
The bird song covers your tracks.