Cliffs

Sea and steppe
At the foot of
Rocks and cliffs
Blue and white
As white as can be
Cut in slices
Unveiling the wisdom
One can hear
The squall of a seagull
In distance
Getting lost
In the smell of wormwood...

The seeds

On a dusty shelf of
Forgotten feelings
There is a heart.
Through the veins
The blood flows
Leaking, turning
Into the gore,
Rusty and crusty
Same old as
The feelings above.
*
The emptiness
Has deepness
Holding treasures
Deep inside
Like an ocean.
*
And new seeds
In a dusty soil
Turn into fresh
Grass in Spring.