Chaos Poetry

January 2, 1998 - Serbia
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Son of a Sun

Your were called a death bringer,

For centuries engraved in our destiny

You belong to red sunshine,

capturing it's burgundy heat

You belong to voiceless, utopian dream

Every move sharpened like an arabesque

Shaping me into a moment in solitude

To be deprived of lucid afterglow

To be a gift to your incandescent dawn

You embedded me in your sanguine castle

Nobody will ever elucidate me

As I'm chained in your rutilant chapel
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