Creativeness is almost always
Dancing on broken glass
From illusions, dreams and something else.
It's like the water
That fills your lungs
While you're sinking to the bottom.
The art is artificial,
The root word is the "art",
And it's temptation
Of my airy mirage of reality.
Do we confuse the eternal with the temporal?
And that's the same thing, isn't it?
But we don't feel the suffocation of drowning,
Or the pain of being cut,
Because are building the eternity
Of stone. Instead of glass
And air of mirages.
A la Sylvia Plath
© Copyright: Анна Сергеевна Васильева, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121061907527
Свидетельство о публикации №121061907527
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