Before the world has taken toll,
When nothing had existed out of soul,
He lived, beloved by the God,
The angel, who had beauty over all,
But one, who couldn't handle it,
And wanted heaven's throne to sit,
The pride had ruined him.
Since he was left imprisoned,
The God had searched for reason,
For how the filth could touch divine,
And how the one could heal with time;
He looked for cure for soul that's crippled
Through imperfection of the people.
The Cure
© Copyright: Данила Васильев, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117020708257
Свидетельство о публикации №117020708257
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