My poetry is vent of mine,
I can find my shelter in it,
When my soul is dried up with sorrow,
When they spit without doubt in that soul.
When the luck will sharply turn on side,
When love'll betray me with no shame,
When everyone as the black ravens,
No people, just satanics' herds.
When splinters and broken mirrors,
And endless around, black sprite,
When my dreams forgotten in the day stream,
And midnight hours spent in loneliness.
When nothing helps from sleeplessness,
When there're the contents of sin on every face,
When just shameless laughter in your friends' eyes.
I cure the soul with my poetry renaissance.
My poetry
© Copyright: Любовь Мозолевская, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103091400724
Свидетельство о публикации №103091400724
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