The rain is drizzling, there is not the end.
Small drops of water stick to wet cold skin.
They try to go inside and to erase
a trembling body, emptying day's gray list.
They try to sound louder than steps.
The sad white noise is going to absorb
and town songs, grabbing in grayish net
every bit, creating one its own.
The hissing sounds quietly hypnotize.
And time is lost inside the silver veil.
One more sad song is hammered deep inside
by the short rain of the cold autumn day.
by Thea Ariss
26.10.2025
White noise
© Copyright: Тея Арис, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125102607626
Свидетельство о публикации №125102607626
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