Poetry

IN THE JUNGLE

The sky is the ground
Wind is the sun
the grasses are birds
whispering love to mate with hate.

I have fed my will with visions of fury
scented with imperfected’ acolyte.
The desired path is laced with gory
Everything draws its strength from the night.
headless mammals live in fear
they will be signs of haunted ghosts.
Dear Solomon, through Adam my dear
bring back the ways of the driving coasts.
Blue is affiliated to pure hatred
especially when the rain ascends to the heaven
eyes also carry the words I bled
through a dozen minus the attire for eleven.
The sky is the ground
Wind is the sun
the grasses are birds
Only to survive in this jungle.
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