Sanctuary [Poetry]

vii-iv-ii

—and there it bleed again,
like dried fountain
with failed coin wishes
scattered beneath,
embraced by old
moss of the time.

and nobody,
even the gods,
dared to grant those
unmoving pleas.

there, it bleed, and
no one have
seen the prickling ink,
its tears,
and nobody heard
its voice—and

no one ever
heard the veins
screaming,
puking all words
necessary.

it's like in their head
they knew they
articulated the
words so clear—
a huge "help"—
and nobody
seemed to
understand.

and no god will
be able to understand.
and no universe will
care to even take
a peak—

it's all but just a drop
of matter anyway.
a matter in which
it didn't matter.

how ironic.