Sometime we do not get much tenderness in life.
We call our life a game, but who plays?
As if a chord of time was struck, rising a cloud of down and feathers,
And so, destiny leads me on, until my heart begins to ache!
On looking back we see that our youth is gone.
A look of hate from some, while others have their jobs to do...
And the pain of unrequited love is the firt to greet the morning.
I choke with maddness - it seems I"ll die!..
But ther"s still hope for breath of love
Whilst like before the East gives us the dawn!
Why do we hurry to meet the sunset and count the length of days?
When do old-old friends surround us?!
But just on farewall days - and so tomorrow wouldn"t matter...
With whome I"ll break the bread and drink the blood of Christ!
Sometimes we dont get much tenderness in life
© Copyright: Diplomat12, 2000
Свидетельство о публикации №100112000344
Свидетельство о публикации №100112000344
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Такое впечатление, что народ убоялся ника и не желает рецы писать. Стих требует чистки в плане времен, например, во второй строке лучше дать 'who is playing'. 'Firt' в седьмой строке, видимо, означает 'first', и т.п.
А в принципе, Вы правы - ex Orientе lux.
Mahalingam 06.01.2002 04:46 • Заявить о нарушении
А в принципе, Вы правы - ex Orientе lux.
Mahalingam 06.01.2002 04:46 • Заявить о нарушении