From the pen out of the phrase
And run away on the line.
Periodically, not immediately
Give birth to a verse in the language.
Like rats, the evil signs
In the stanza they run away.
And the letters, hiding in the gloom,
They confuse you by attacking.
And you rhyme with verbs,
Without noticing it.
Noticing, you write everything in a new way.
This isn't new to you.
Fighting like this until midnight
With size, rhymes, syllables,
You realize how much you want to
To create and to dream miracles.
You've figured out your ideas.
Now you want light.
And, as if becoming more honest with yourself,
Suddenly I realized that you are a poet.
12.12.2019
Poem
© Copyright: Людмила Валериевна Аксёнова, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120010303330
Свидетельство о публикации №120010303330
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