in the death car
may come whatever comes
when death will beat in times of need
in his tremendous drums
while godlike shrine we never shine
until it is too late
and what for rest is wretched nest
of love and hope and hate
but death is pure the kind of cure
which sorrow shall subside
and its embrace and porcelain face
are those of perfect bride
so fear you not it is for nought
and yet like moonlight glimpse
are pain and grief so vague and brief
no head no heart no limbs
22/09/11
Свидетельство о публикации №111092300494