A point ‘A’, a line “AB”,
The clock I hardly try to beat…
And barely beaten time is gone,
The point ‘B’ is now a sun.
The sun without acute-deep rays,
It waits and grows and sends the waves
Of utter love in sonic forms,
and melts an anger when it swarms.
It leaves for worries only spume,
The sun – the center of a womb.
March 5, 2010
Copyright ©2010 Iouri Lazirko
My point B
© Copyright: Юрий Лазирко, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110030505647
Свидетельство о публикации №110030505647
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