A happy poem, what a nonsense,
To think of happiness on Earth!
We are condemned to bear this torture
To our death, from our birth.
Think of the things we are exposed to:
Think about war, think about love.
They bring our life to the “Infernos”
Though I am not a Dante’s dove.
I used to love each single morning,
I used to love Her charming face.
And now what’s left is only mourning,
And painful truth we have to face.
The pain of war is not so different:
It makes us cry for our loved ones.
With drumming of the tears on graveyard
Old lady Death begins her dance.
Remember cobbler from “The, Cesar”.
With his slight mind he told us, that
He was repairing soles of people,
Cus’ with the time they do turn bad.
I use to think of pain as prayer.
The one is used to cleanse our soul,
The pain is used to cleanse our body.
With two together we are whole.
A Non-Happy Poem
© Copyright: Basantsov Robert, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103050200036
Свидетельство о публикации №103050200036
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