Entering a mirror is not the same as going to the other side.
But to reflect on everything we see
Everything heard becomes understanding each other
Everything is sung to you, from you to you
But nothing is being listened to
And implication creates meaning
This direction is your direction
Your path that ends at a steep slope
You are me, but I am silent.
For those who run towards the cliff
Changing course always backfires.
If it's obvious, it makes perfect sense.
But if you fall from a great height
It will be upside down
With one exception: throwing oneself into the air is intentional…
…well, that's perfect timing
And if we flip a coin
It will be perfect timing.
And your faces will fall
I am you, and you hate me.
What will we remember?
And will they go as far as publishing the poems?
What does the serpent hide? What does the chimera hide? What does the lion hide?
What does the sun's rays hide from us?
Are we astronoming?
Or are the stars dwelling upon us?
Cosmic lies, nuclear winters, woven forest
Destiny: scissors and paper rocks melting in the rain
Here you are, sun!
You turn the corner to hide from my poetry
Mine is yours, but yours does not love mine.
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