I stand here alone on the stone.
In a rye field. Like a warrior, or maybe I am?
Wind blows into my face from eastern woods.
That's my time is looking for me.
Unlocking my power through the storm.
Something goes right now, I know.
Ancient script activated in a dream world.
You know this symphony as I do.
Main part where we always follow the fool
Collapsed into pieces. Heroes are gone too.
After all. The Writer in me has come to be.
Never told before... You all are books for me.
Broken and stolen. Unneeded for most.
Beautiful and hilarious. Never enough this kind for me.
So, what you gonna do if tell you where I actually go?
This questions just remarks to be sure I had been right
About you, about me and the world around.
You are still falling. Music still silent in me.
And the world calling the great ones to be.
27.3.2022
Roots 8 The Writer
© Copyright: Вета Минина, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122032706944
Свидетельство о публикации №122032706944
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