I live with the thought
which finds me in nowhere
to play with the distance
which never grows close.
My silence is caught
where wars aren’t over.
About my existence
the dust only knows.
I travel the wind
in lighting bug sparkles,
my lunges are too greedy
for tremors to loom.
A sun gives a hint
where shadows keep charcoals,
and meadows are bleeding
with poppies in bloom.
Be rough with your wish
in an oil spill rainbow,
in whispering graveyards
where memories left.
Count bones of the fish
piled over the table
like all of your maybes
unclaimed and bereft.
Go over the thought
which finds me in nowhere
to play with the distance
which never grows close.
That’s all what I got –
the old wars leftovers.
I’m only the instance
where silence still grows.
August 11, 2014
I live with the thought
© Copyright: Юрий Лазирко, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114081109223
Свидетельство о публикации №114081109223
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