A glass, solitude's bitter sting,
My life, a book's worn, fading pages.
The final verse, the bells will ring,
To find release in frozen, watery cages.
Each chapter etched with shades of grey,
A tale of whispers, lost and hollow.
The ink runs dry, the light gives way,
To shadows that relentlessly follow.
And when the last faint word is read,
The binding breaks, the story's done.
I'll slip beneath, among the dead,
A final page, forever one.
the book
© Copyright: Мария Лаво, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125041206772
Свидетельство о публикации №125041206772
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