Blue canvas of the skies
with white and ochre splashes,
sun throws its golden ashes,
the dawn is full of cries.
So day and night could part,
the salty wind is blowing,
drags Moon into my drawing,
its racing blushing cart.
The west is filled with reds,
ink shadows darken grass.
Stars blinking to surpass
departing day’s regrets.
Dark night awaits its turn,
waves roll a silver rug.
The air is now moonstruck,
night fingers play nocturne.
Accept my prayers, Moon,
soft whisper, sobbing depth.
This everning’s quiet steps
have stretched into the dune.
Street lamp’s green-yellow glow
fills sand with olive spills -
dark mirror that reveals
my pain. Tears flow.
Nocturne
© Copyright: А Н Е Л, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104051000144
Свидетельство о публикации №104051000144
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