At the start of the morning,
God took out his brushes
so the day will be rolling
from the clouds and ashes.
With the palette of colours,
he mixed blues with gold lashes,
outrageous and callous,
not afraid of stark clashes.
Crimson wings beat in pain
spraying blood on the mirror
abstract lines, tears rain,
the rainbow arch is nearer.
Morning
© Copyright: А Н Е Л, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104121400447
Свидетельство о публикации №104121400447
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