Feeling like writing doesn’t come at ease
When days of blank repletion come
By daylight chains of phrases freze
By night the sequence comes undone
A mind is such a shady fraud
Perception plays with loaded dice
On paper it remains a thought
And yet it all could be a vice
The mightiest rival is within
Will you go for a self-destruct?
I’d rather let the fire in
Than watch it slowly go abduct
This world is suited for a fight
And I’ll be damned if I don’t write
sonnet
© Copyright: Запах Сарсапарели, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119091800319
Свидетельство о публикации №119091800319
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