Life is game. There is no rules.
There is no-one to be won.
Trying to heal yourself by mixtures
Does not change what is done.
Shooting. Fighting. Thinking out loud.
Lifeless body on the ground.
Stopped heart beating. He is gone.
Silence. Angels, singing the "Profound".
Blank face. Opened and frightened eyes.
Pupils, reflecting the guns.
Soldier's boots stepping on his arms.
Jingle sounds of falling slams.
He is not an enemy now.
He has gone to the better world,
Where blood doesn't flow
And winds don't blow.
Crying.Screaming.Mother's tears.
Blurred strings of letters.
There is nothing around but fears
And nothing else matters.
Does it make sense?
© Copyright: Милена Быхова, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116052208184
Свидетельство о публикации №116052208184
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