It wasn’t so hard for you, really,
It wasn’t
To reach out for dew in a star-peppered sky
Then why, my, oh why, could you tell me
You’re pausing
Your mental process between “tired” and “die”
No, it’s not sad to be writing of virtue
No it’s not hard to unravel your soul
But every time your thoughts venture to future
Feeling of dread, of calm kindling. Cold.
Lonely is not who secluded to exile
Lone is not someone, who’s strength is his own
Lonely is someone, who’s not being docile
Foolishly, blindly refuses to join
***
© Copyright: Мика Фролов, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118012501265
Свидетельство о публикации №118012501265
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