That echo, roaming and roar,
I heard once between the scarps,
It makes me wondering,
If there
Is something that survives and lasts?
Some turned to vague and named it clear,
But is this way and is there way?
I would be saddened, if sincere;
If true, then life is plain, they say.
That winter, voiceless and severe,
I wonder, how does it serve
To justify the mighty
Mercy,
Which heals the eye and calms the nerve?
Life’s no trick to those judging,
But may be more so at once;
With nothing still and no grudging,
It wouldn’t ask you for a stance.
That feeling – tss, I’ve got the concept,
Hold back the game, just savor it,
Is this, I’m wondering,
A promise,
Or is it merely a skit?
Let me refer – return is closed,
Whom would you ask to turn it up?
- Not to Descartes, to an unfocused
Kid, bringing show to a clap.
29.11.2016
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© Copyright: Мадина Плиева, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116112908874
Свидетельство о публикации №116112908874
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