When flight finally' s over
your look on the scars
on opened our wounds -
like bloody red sharp knife...
Have passed - divided
among our mind,
always like one, but blinded.
It seems so much to me
on always my lone step to see
the another and no one predicts
the every' s destiny touch precisely,
as me...
Others?
Who knows, what i am,
who says who you are,
we' re always so lone
and wrong way besides,
like something that comes,
but no one disturbs on feelling
between, but... Look on, fires!
Oh, yeah!?
Here' s another...
Mirrow on black touch,
carnaval - masquerade,
they' re all so happy,
i' m asking meanwhile,
why do we come?
For a treasure?
No, it' s without a measure...
Without a measure
© Copyright: Руслан Лях, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114050702927
Свидетельство о публикации №114050702927
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