CRUCIFIED ON THE PAPER CROSS
One moment in the eternal currence
Lasts in the poem with lost rhyme
The clocks are singing the ballads
In the reverse movement of time
Walking through the fading gardens
Once I'll walk out to the unlit fields
I will hear the birds' last pardons
See the trees sway to my guilt
Tomorrow knocks on my open door
The aching fingers touch the wall
Cold embraces my spine so sore
I can't make a step without a fault
Self crucified on the paper cross
With the thorns around my temples
Burning out my skin in frost
The water flows instead of blood
Gather all my pieces
As this paper turns to ash
Inhale the atoned with hundred kisses
And let the flame's lips clean my flesh
Crucified On The Paper Cross
© Copyright: Рен Тажеев, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109031502359
Свидетельство о публикации №109031502359
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