Red moon,
straight ahead!
Mourning, but not weep.
I stood, on the 8th floor.
The big city,
with all the towers,
and the noises,
become a big mirror of mine.
Red moon,
straight ahead!
Mourning, but not weep.
I stood, alone.
the mirror
August 29, 2007 at 7:46 pm (incision, poetry)
