I thought I'd cry a thousand words upon my grief,
But all I am is smoke and mirrors, broken,
Don't look at me – my lie's behind my grin,
Let's leave these tears and words uncried, unspoken.
There is no heart to write my poems 'bout,
I guess it's time to set my drafts afire.
Last wish of mine I still desire, deny it,
Despise this moment when I lost my rhyme.
Am I a poet? – Liar and that's all.
I burned no heart, wore only mask of wisdom,
I am the one for whom this bell still tolls,
Until I say farewell and comes the Kingdom.
29, June
2015
Drafts Afire
© Copyright: Максимов Александр Андреевич, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115062906521
Свидетельство о публикации №115062906521
Рецензии