What is left of me
I am snow-white scattered news,
melting in a heart,
as a winter’s scalded fuse.
Since the poignant chest’s
broken by the solar spears,
should I bloom in grey
when the scythe’s beheading near?
Its refection crawls,
smoldering in shades for days.
It’s the harvest time.
Harvest all my dreams to pray.
Sift me, chanting loud,
thinning out the lonely light.
What is meant to fall –
silent in the paws of night.
What is sown in you –
solar spears and lambent swords
striking through the chest
in the name of nameless lord,
what is left of me… blues,
and snow-white scattered news.
I feel fondled like
an explosion… being used…
May 26, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110052607172
With gratitude,
LU
Юрий Лазирко 05.06.2010 01:39 Заявить о нарушении