Night dreams are in the main like torments,
They keep in me and him along.
As I wake up, I wane from boredom -
My life is dull, for I am lone.
Reality is filth and stinking,
In sleep there is a cursed dream.
I shall be never-happy, wilting.
I have to leave a windowsill.
Since being not pleased with fate prepared,
For sure I would rest this way.
I should admit that anywhere
Inanity makes me decay.
I do exist without living
And always wonder - Who am I?
Into my soul the death was breathed.
I used to ask - what for and why?
The others cry and laugh, whatever,
But I have pined like plants away.
A painful void inside, it scares.
My time is up, upon my fay!
I cannot change the past of puttering
And make my dreams come true, alas!
So I take off my mask, and after
A sigh, for I jump off to pass...
оригинал - http://www.stihi.ru/2011/07/14/449
Reality
© Copyright: Ольга Бася, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112120411798
Свидетельство о публикации №112120411798
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