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 and the boy

 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 sober place

A naked tree in the middle of the park

In the center of the obvious chaos.

There it was again.

My gift to myself

My selfless self embodied in

A 4 year old boy.