Tell me, why we are so rude?
There is no place for nice
In our hearts because of lies
Which wash in the gloomy mood.
We’re becoming yelping yesguys
Yokels, yearning to the death
Which takes us back into earth
Our home of cold and darkness
What’s the reason of our dullness?
No one knows but I think money:
Man can yea sell his mummy
If he is a moneyless.
Other reason is the weapons
Which put wheending-sheets and coffins
On the fleshes and the spirits
Wreaking feelings into kill-sins.
Our flesh is free of spirit
We don’t pity dyer’s writhing
Or the beggar’s help-need crying
We don’t even want to hear it.
Our future will be abyss
If we don’t love each other
We must be polite and kind
If we want to be clean, sinless
Февраль 1997 года
Appeal
© Copyright: Деметриос, 2001
Свидетельство о публикации №101032400355
Свидетельство о публикации №101032400355
Рецензии
На это произведение написаны 4 рецензии, здесь отображается последняя, остальные - в полном списке.
