Trafika Europe 2 - Polish Nocturne

IX. Omen

My path – a faded crow now – thrones my head and I hate autumn’s big, colorful death and I fear the strutting-peacock life I look back onto – posing, feather-spread: denying beauty, like a conniving icon that loves itself, gazes, and slaps its face; I’m a dark-walker on my chessboard fate: someone else moves me, till I reach the box; I dreamed a dragon flying in azure sky – and a lamb-cloud’s blood fell into the Jordan. My troubled soul’s on fire, unfathoming, (like a person who never changes: hates terribly, and dreams with fear) while my heart worships its muse once again.

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