2 lutego 2016
Flame
What shall I write
from the empty, desolate heart,
when every word is being scraped?
You want to clean the mess
of a lifetime,
yet labour brings loneliness
and you inherit
the depth of a problem.
A thought which has no ending.
A constant battle with yourself
in the bleak winter of age.
One by one they have died,
Your invisible gods.
The vast landscape
of knowing the truth
still remains unconquered.
Pursue you must for the sake of moment
a flame which has no heat!
6 lipca 2025
violetta
6 lipca 2025
wiesiek
6 lipca 2025
Yaro
5 lipca 2025
dobrosław77
5 lipca 2025
violetta
5 lipca 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
5 lipca 2025
Arsis
5 lipca 2025
jeśli tylko
5 lipca 2025
jeśli tylko
4 lipca 2025
Jaga