The scattered world is an unthreaded necklace.
Blue neck of sky remembers chinks and smashes.
To forge its word it takes a sway of blacksmith,
for breeding rains it borrows strings and lashes.
Love has been noteless since the notes were trackless.
Those tiny suns, they blazed in countless dashes,
uncloaking my awareness of half-blackness
in squibs of fireflies and novae ashes.
Skies tied my knot of heart and face turned salty.
Inhabitants of clouds went over showers,
and reaped fresh drops. I swear I hear soil’s nibbling.
The sting of poignant past was slowly melting.
Time grabbed emotions and attached small hours,
the wings to fly inside my ego deeply.
October 8, 2010
Sonnet XI
© Copyright: Юрий Лазирко, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110100900164
Свидетельство о публикации №110100900164
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