* * ; *
Icy slush,
Track.
But the ending is the same,
To go or to go,
Or even fly, –
Only death lies ahead.
But for now, he lives.
Not dried up yet
Snow production,
The March Blizzard.
Hard ice
The corpse is kept cold.
Flakes curl at dusk
To the lamplight.
Of all evolutions
People have no choice.
Foreheads are checked
Dead ends of fate.
A small snowfall
You'll be distracted for a moment,
But still the same barrier,
Cramped and dead-end,
All the puny stock
Pale dreams, vain phrases.
March 10, 2007
Icy slush...
© Copyright: Полина Фёдоровна Игнатова, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120010303429
Свидетельство о публикации №120010303429
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