Sometimes I feel like being lonely
In this illusion getting sad,
Right through your eyes, in jail only
I realized its sense was bad.
Like sharpened edges of the oaks,
Like their leaves smoothed by the waves –
The waves of rain that hardly soaks
These whispy leaves, – I walk away...
Nobody saw me poised the figure
Nobody guessed the dream I had –
A simple dream to pull the trigger,
And walk away to leaves I scrubbed.
The sense of desillusion
© Copyright: Якоб Энгелар, 2000
Свидетельство о публикации №100111700320
Свидетельство о публикации №100111700320
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