The dark.The mist
I run. I fall
The hand I hold
is foreign to me
The bricks.The fight
Am I away enough?
The silence falls
He weakly smiles at me
He says :
“Are you afraid?”
I cry.I pray
That bitter taste
The palm on cheek
His eyes .The moon
He shot the man
He took my hand
Is it too late?
The wind.The tears
I do not care
I stand.We run.
