There is no love against the will,
There is no fire, when it’s dark.
But if it sleeps somewhere deep still,
So can be raised by tiny spark.
There is no future anymore.
There is no hope, I just regret,
That I couldn’t be somewhere before,
Where I won’t be mentally dead.
There is an abyssal straight way,
There are just dreams and peace no more.
Whose fault is this? What would you say?
You know it, don’t you? Oh well, sure…
The Answer
© Copyright: Дмитрий Писарев 3, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123041001379
Свидетельство о публикации №123041001379
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