Poems

It is 12 o'clock. Under the miserable, unhopeful and defeatist marker, there stands an awe-inspiring tree. Its leaves float on the branches, elegantly hypnotizing anyone who looks at them. And as the tree falls, it does it placidly, with passion.

This is different. The children with effusion before, and now machines that you cannot explore. Did everything really change that much, for us to be destroyed as such?

The demons of the past are circulating inside of a boy — their scarlet ignorance, hate and pride, any grace, love or truth unidentified. The way they put lies in his mouth: 'How could you even do that?'

A rusty bridge holds its place in the middle of everywhere. The only passage between death and life, the only passage that helps the parasite to survive. The two lands, bound to forever connect — with only one having hope.