Brutus' Knife

Swirl of colour
crimson tear
danger drawing near...

Oh, my fellow man
sufferer of spaces, in this lion's den
Brutus' knife in lack of metanoja
Petti burgeous playing it koy

Resources taken by their lot
Rising dump on that dry rot

Oh, hide in his name
they plead phobia, shame
as they close the door
having looted those poor
in every way...

To my Love...
I yearn to sing you a lullaby
so that you do not hear, sigh
many centuries have passed
but those motherly eyes shine...

in spaces so vast

I love You