I live, while I can write and hear,
While I can pull from deep within,
Words, notes, sounds, and rhythms,
And maybe more beyond the skin.
While I still strive, back to the source,
Whence things are sent, just for me now,
While I can still, as part of prism,
decode the pulse-fire’s truth somehow.
While I can breathe and while I hope,
To draw a spark from silent skies,
And if I’m missing, it means now,
I’m gone, regret, and not alive.
I sad, this body’s frail decay,
In earth it finds its quiet sphere,
But while I still can be right here,
I live, while I can write and hear.
http://stihi.ru/2011/09/18/283
while I can write and hear
© Copyright: Слава Мостовой, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124072304162
Свидетельство о публикации №124072304162
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