My days have come, my days.
No sunny shine, no craze.
Grey sounds from grey window.
Don't want to lose nor win, though.
My days have come, my days.
And wordless music plays,
fulfills the void of soul,
of what at random sold.
My days have come, my days.
No talk, no speed, no race.
The beauty of embrace
with blanket, just in case.
My days have come, and I
spent hours to deny
what happened before,
and what I'm living for.
My days
© Copyright: Косов Сергей Геннадьевич, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121102206394
Свидетельство о публикации №121102206394
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