My Eyes
Distilled imaginary wisdom,
Life is too blurred to get to grips,
We are designers of the freedom!
They are the mirror of the soul -
Abyss of emptiness and sorrow,
They’re like two pieces of black coal,
The weightless worlds to give and borrow;
My eyes proclaim the dream alive
It’s fed by obvious emotions,
It’s worth the skill to run and strive,
And think in detail and slow motion;
We see - the story is on us:
To make it beautiful or ugly,
Yet there is fate and faith, so vast
That may be we can face the struggling;
And sweetly suffer not in vain,
To see the light in dark dark tunnels,
We just embrace the future pain,
And never hope for something final;
Свидетельство о публикации №123030208903