stylistic diarea
my inner world is on the paper.
it's time when words become my weapon.
it's time when verses make a rhyme.
a simple flow out of my mind.
my every scar beneath the lines
and i believe it's just the time.
some tender pictures of the past
ingraved in stanzas are to last.
a string will break- but it's repaired;
no other tune again is dared.
the chord of mind, the inner ghost;
it's when you pick your glass for toast.
no other words are being needed
to say what author has believed in.
31-05-2011
© Copyright: Ника Сидоренко, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112092005327
Свидетельство о публикации №112092005327
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