To open eyes, to see the trees, to live
Or die and drink the darkness of forever?
Black butterflies, life is a drift, a brief
Enchantment, aid of demons, false endeavor.
Oh soul, or tortured cloud in a stiff,
Repulsive body painted so clever -
No one would recognise a damned cadaver
Of mute and senseless clay made to deceive.
To be for now, to think of life, to try
The mist of light, blue-red translucent sky.
Oh how to hold hands, striving to escape?
Before you blink - they melt and liquefy.
Embalm the world to keep its feeble shape!
18 April 2000
To be or not to be - acrostic
© Copyright: Борис Старосельский, 2002
Свидетельство о публикации №102122500369
Свидетельство о публикации №102122500369
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