Piecing every cold shard -
Memory feared of that.
Bleed,shattered and priceless -
I know all the secrets.
Without wings I can't stop,
Scars are opening sore.
Guess I thought I had to mind
The shards of past
As they were cutting me.
My flesh are wounds,
They filled with darkness of hours
From the crucifix tree.
I count the steps like letters by gore.
So I'll find the way out,
Every step gets a wound.
Glass is made of wormwood,
Farewell plant like hoot.
Should it hurt to feel lament,
Lost in the cruel?
Just when even meets stars,
I see their frozen eyes,
When they will meet the end,
Stars will be falled, shaterred,
And they're falleth like broken sun.
Broken, falleth, broken, falleth...
(20.03.10)
Sore Shards
© Copyright: Душа Элизабет, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110032004967
Свидетельство о публикации №110032004967
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