This May is cold. And I'm so cold as May.
It seems like somebody mixed up the dates,
And shoreline of the lake looks shiny grey
The icy plate tied down it's liquid traits.
The sunset plows a furrow down the light
Her distance grows and follows weary day
Dove-colored water keeping still at sight
But isn't warming much it's cooling state.
This cold is stingy with anxiety. But what
This May is saying being icy cold?
Who's shadow hanging out ahead, my God.
It's building up translucent ephemeral mold.
The moon is breaking clouds, flows down
With mystical and ghostly flow
My guilt is covered with a decrepit gown
Being dead forgotten like the melted snow.
The prophets fell asleep but story-writers not
Well, each of them pretends to be a maven
All try to warm up tehir bones with hot
Unfruitful dreams about the missing heaven.
This May is cold
© Copyright: Сергей Калейс, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №221062701706
Свидетельство о публикации №221062701706
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