My world is private,
And so is my grief,
As dreams are finite,
Like a happy mischief;
Alas! Whatever
You put at stake,
Life will just mock you
And prove it a fake;
A fate is random,
Like rolling a dice,
Breakthroughs are seldom,
Routine will suffice;
Blank souls surround
The mirage of light;
But cold is the ground
And no hope is in sight;
They will treasure few thoughts,
Carved out of their minds,
Ignoring their lot
And the darkness of night.
My world is private...
© Copyright: Ирина Стародубцева 3, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118012402806
Свидетельство о публикации №118012402806
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