A primal grief.
Like phantom rain, the drops descend,
A countdown in the air.
The pool of life, from end to end,
Is filled with things we do not seek—
For someone else to bear.
The refuse flows and starts to foam,
The water drifts away,
A thirst that finds no other home,
Eternal, here to stay...
You know, perhaps, as years go by,
That only feelings can remain—
No, tenderly, they fade and die,
So fleeting in the rain.
A primal grief.
Like phantom rain, the drops descend,
A countdown in the air.
The pool of life, from end to end,
Is filled with things we do not seek—
For someone else to bear.
The rest is thought, just words of words,
The rest is dreams, what dreams have sworn,
The vanity of noisy herds,
And grief—the world’s architecture, forlorn...
A primal grief.
Like phantom rain, the drops descend,
A countdown in the air.
In the air.
In the air.
http://stihi.ru/2021/07/08/5692
Grief
© Copyright: Артур Лено, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126052201278
Свидетельство о публикации №126052201278
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