For stiffling rooms are hunted by
Familiar voices of unknown,
Besides you catch a frightful sight
Of creeping and forsaken dawn.
However tight or drunk you are,
Its silhouette is still afar.
***
A narcissistic lightning bulb,
Which gaze is pearcing withered puddle,
With every grain, as if he were
Someone, who`s lived - and will live after
Us, seeks the truth in its expression,
Despite not having fourth dimension.
***
Out there among the greish silk,
The tress of which is causing blindness,
Yet, still can`t force a trembly ink
To image it. But someday find it
The variegated part of Eath
(For some it seems a bit absurd).
***
As soon as world is one huge step.
(Say, every street and every corner.)
One whispers words:"It's all the same."
On ones deathbed, as getting colder
Ones fingers are. And groan of bones
Reminds the knocking on a tomb.