Poem
This creature lives in Nowhere land.
Is there a bright day?
Or it's the raven black Extend,
Not even stars in sway?
No road exists to Nowhere land,
At least not one that’s marked.
But I have late friends who'd been there
And brought Prometheus spark.
There're the seasons - sun, rain, snow,
The time when Persephone -
Comes from the hidden lovers low -
Blooms on the Earthy throne.
Are There seasons? Or no play?
The permanency of death?
Or, just the permanency of a wait
For the dream which would impress?
The creature of the Nowhere land -
She like a sigh, a breath,
Like a night black moth in search of a light
Appears from the Nowhere at night,
And burns, and inks the page.