It's cold. November.
I'm not lonely -
My soul being bound to you.
But I see death.
And all out cursing
The world, I do not fade from view.
For what? What for?
The eyes are closed.
You are reflecting in the glass.
Asphalt, the morning rain has washed,
Is in the blood.
It falls apart.
Around is movement.
Faces. People.
I want to find you, let me do!
But I see gloom.
And like a needle,
Sharp fearful pain is coming through.
And everywhere clocks are stopped.
It's cold. November.
All day in.
But there's a voice deep in my thoughts:
"Keep living, please, I beg! For me."
оригинал - http://www.stihi.ru/2014/11/24/8882
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© Copyright: Ольга Бася, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119031806551
Свидетельство о публикации №119031806551
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