Winds and storms are fleeting,
But I'm bored by the calm.
I'd be better bleeding,
But would be not ice-bound.
I'd be better broken,
Spitted by the thorn,
But would be never woken
By my conscience's horn.
I am at the crossroads,
Nothing know to do.
Want to go abroad
From myself,
Through wound.
The horizon's coming
Through half-opened eye.
Face downward I'm lying,
Trying not to cry.
Trying not to cry
© Copyright: Катерина Уржумцева, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110070804173
Свидетельство о публикации №110070804173
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