There's nothing to fight across,
There's nothing inside,
There's an emptiness outside
That you can be shout through the cross.
And no matter how much you turn
To shadows of years by gone,
The loops of delusion fly back
They spin and smolder by done
And choke you through tear, slow,
They leave burns, they gnaw at the bridle.
And bonds grow weaker and weak,
And dry up from ground to peak...
And once incoherently speech will be flow.
22.02.24
http://stihi.ru/2024/01/06/7756
incoherently
© Copyright: Кирилл Сафонов, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124022204303
Свидетельство о публикации №124022204303
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