poezja o gościu w głowie

Wind

wind never comes to your brain
To clean the mess.

It can be gorgeous
It can be art,
But the more you put
the more it's just mess.

'stop' you can only say

But the glass is still there
Glass is a mess and

- And what?
They only ask.

The wind is like when you are in the room, it's too hard to feel
It's from every side.
Not too close to doors
No too close to bed
You just stand there
Watching the whole mess
And only they do is ask
Over and over
And when someone asks for a glass
you are surprised

Cause no one ever asked for the glass

But there are too many of them
You know that if you take even one
The castle will get down
And it can break
Too many of them, you say

And the glasses are still standing there
"Maybe someday," you say
Maybe someday by wind
Maybe by someone who knows how the castles can easily collapse.