I crave my liberty from useless deeds,
political discussions here and there.
A smog of words, from war to war it leads...
A verdant place to think...why think? - it's rare.
Surrounded and cornered...rotten world
the only hope for solitude - the grey years
In thoughts I'm free, no yoke for me, no herd!
A dreamer, who beats down the stifling layers.
three free minutes
© Copyright: Athena, 2002
Свидетельство о публикации №102090700468
Свидетельство о публикации №102090700468
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