An empty street and lights are bright.
It smells with goverment and fight,
With million of voices,
With zero, with no choices.
It looks like rain, like air or phone,
Like chimneys or some cinnamon,
It looks like a wrong route.
I wish I understood.
It's morning now and everytime
I wake up in 1905,
And every year's the same
Time doesn't feel ashamed.
Hey, hear me! I am waiting for
Someone to open me the door
Even there're no doors
In these tall solid walls.
***
© Copyright: Поля Февральская, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111052302928
Свидетельство о публикации №111052302928
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