Photo by Dynamic Wang on Unsplash
Maturity is the handle of unforeseen joy,
too much of which we simply cannot express nor handle,
wine tastes sweet after the Camembert, sitting with fine decadence of time,
I watch the clock erase the race of centuries; centurions headed into the historical,
civility apparent in the deck of spaces, play them aces’,
in between winning every accolade you forgot to mention, is you.
Where have you been?
Determination amongst young souls, they fight with fervor,
the trajectory of common folk, spaced with a need for flight and desire, young blood, the taste of money and hatred amidst fire,
youngest generations deceased after the wordsmith massacres.
Anna Rozwadowska 2023