My understanding of the life..
What can it be, for what it need?
It like a horrible dark knife,
Which make you cry and even bleed..
My life’s so strange and alien thing..
Sometimes it runs, sometimes it listen.
It can red flowers to me bring,
Or with black tears my eyelash kissen..
I don’t know were the end of lie,
Why dare my soul sleep every minute?
Why might I shut and even die,
For my own destiny, you see that?
My understanding of the death,
What can it be, for what it need?
It like invisible white dress,
Which wraps us quietly and sweet.
My death’s so warm and dear thing.
Sometimes it laughs, sometimes it crying.
And where the deferens, in mean,
Because the born-it also dying..
My understanding of the life..
© Copyright: Янна Новохатько, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110062206702
Свидетельство о публикации №110062206702
Рецензии