Into blind and sinister devotion,
Like in swirling vortex I precipitate.
Deeply stuck in world of my emotions,
I find no thing I could appreciate.
And so lonely, desolate, detested,
I am thrown to vulture, that is love.
And my heart – a place wherein it rested –
Is devoured, consumed for evermore.
Love is but a simple freak of nature,
Just an amazing, fabulous illusion.
It is to make our feeble hearts be fractured,
It only adds some sense to our lone seclusion.
But even though we know how much of us love takes,
We’re always sad when love our lonely hearts forsakes.
Sonnet II
© Copyright: Артур Тухикян, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104091201176
Свидетельство о публикации №104091201176
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