In the white castle it is so quiet,
pearly flushes bring in cold pallid light.
All sound died on the snowy walls,
White Angels cannot enter the dream halls.
In dreary cycles snowflakes dance,
The Tower clock hand is dead at once.
Nightmare is touching windows frame
delusion, silence, evil spirit claim.
Outside the night is all coal black
there are no sounds, even one crack.
Moonlight bleaks are on the dome of sky.
Under bleary light eerie ghosts will fly.
The hand of time
© Copyright: А Н Е Л, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104102600437
Свидетельство о публикации №104102600437
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