In my restless dream I like to fly:
I saw a town full of cry,
I flew closer in one breath:
The cry I heard was cry of death.
That was the cry of empty voice,
Of those who didn't have a choice
The voice has begged to run away
This place has turned into ashtray.
And I have grown in bloody ground,
My wings fell down, wind stole my crown,
I stay alone among the blind:
I try untie my sacred mind.
And suddenly I saw a field,
This field was my eternal weald,
The twister burst my stinky soul,
My head, my heart, — I'm bloody hole.
I dissolved in holy joke,
I choke in ashy burning smoke,
Among these fumes one cannot love,
Just get your crazy head above, —
You see the almost human skull.
It's warm and soft and deadly dull.
It smiles at me and I smile back,
I scream, I laugh at my blackjack.
And in this Town silence reigns:
And frozen, pouring, endless rains...
Grey dream
© Copyright: Кирилл Гелех, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119031807985
Свидетельство о публикации №119031807985
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