Time
dismembered the sky...
on searches,
imprinting thoughts by
fragments of events.
Your serenity is where
Church is…
And hidden in the whisper,
voice –
makes sense.
Rolling stones are to tear…
Like powder,
consternation
on blanched faces dulls.
Executioner’s paid…
And louder
silence breeds,
cutting “Love” off…
vibrant pulse.
November 19, 2007
Iouri Lazirko
Copyright ©2007 Iouri Lazirko