The night oversleeping.
Wonder why the grey lilies cracked,
Dug streams in the orbit of infinity,
Worshipped the star’s fate
Inside souls' dust...
Have you heard?
The timbre of bell
Sadly poised on the edge of
Red wheel
Quaint silence!
Forgot that dived in the way of chaos
Bathed the costume of time,
Looked out the remembrances.
Thousands of years passed
And, if I wanted to tear in the shade of my breath
I would open street in galleries,
Between idols of doubtful writing
To find you
Jailed recollection
Of an endless feast.
I was lost in the fluorite
Walked through the fog of precipice,
Ached in the carmine harvest of future sleep,
Around visions of small lost suns.
But I do not make curtsey
I will not be thirsty in the source.
And no! I will not leave from intermediary Eastern exit!
There is another solution.
« return.