I fell into the paradox,
To begin with - the burst of symmetry,
The cutting edge was torn into pieces.
Waters from all withering colors began to
Gather in the hurricane - bringing uneasiness
From ancient times, where
Red was the true color of clouds
Grey was the standing flag for despair,
Where eventually Blue was a movement,
The silent running train of lost men,
The unique color of Odysseus' eye.
The old greek looked at me in the storm,
His sentence broke the axis - and
Traveled through my mind :
" That makes no difference,
You're already dead. "
(Edition I)
