A vile whisper from the night:
It’s really hard and rooted time.
The night is dark and full of terrors,
So you can’t see the ends of arrows.
Among this gloom the mind’s drunk,
And then you feel the throbbing dark.
You spot the nightly swell and sweat,
The sense you only used to need.
I wait for black to clot, dry up.
I’ll take my own dissolving light.
And bouffant volumes of the murk
Will be abruptly blazed and burnt.
11.2017
The night
© Copyright: Калинина Алина Омск, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117111404777
Свидетельство о публикации №117111404777
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