A poem to pisces

A piece

Drifting

Peacefully

Over the abyss

The Pacific

Suspends

The mirror

Of the whole

Gently sliding

Falling Away

Into darkness

Entropy

In depth

Lurking

Weird fishes

Hungry for flesh.

The branch

There's no much pleasure

In these days.

But yet I left a stick on a top of a tree

In a park.

Got there again, 3 weeks after

And there it was.

A special stick, an immaginary magical wand,

The sharpest mythological sword,

The scythe of a god.

A branch from a tree.

Dettached and disguised in its own.

Hiding in the clearest and soberest place

A naked tree in the middle of the park

At the epicenter of the city

At the heart of the ordinary darkness -

There it was again.

My gift to myself

My selfless self embodied

As a 4 year old boy -

My own broken omnipotent branch.