The lifetime has woven the net
The days overnight are so sticky
It's cocoon. Sometime we're like marionette
See all upside down. Blind city
The wings hasn't grown yet while
And hence Sky is waiting for fire
All what is maturing and changing inside
Can time let us go from gyre?
Will wings of the butterfly as
The rainbow or they will get color
Of death and will break as the glass?
The time still is weaving its net. Time is owner
The cocoon is waiting in shadow of Sun
Among moonlight leaves on the tree of the Son
The Cocoon
© Copyright: Радуница, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113080709810
Свидетельство о публикации №113080709810
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