Trees, which I'm surrounded by
On wet grass and moss
I lay.
In immenisity of green
Sunshine, breaking through the leaves.
Nothing.
But the blowing of breeze.
On my face.
Nothing
Except the rain.
Dripping down from the air,
Like a tears.
On my skin.
Nothing.
Only cold, freshly whiff.
Freezing my fingers.
Nothing.
Just whispers and murmurs.
Of plants.
Which I feel
Underneath my body.
Woe of the wind
Echoes in the depths
Of the dark.
I see one, little rise
Of the flash.
Only me.
Forest.
...
I've lost
Myself.
Under cones, bugs and ground
Lichen by the grass.
Rotten bones.
Pined carcass.
Psyche retire the frame.
No!
Wait, no.
I'm not lifeless..!
This ruthless
Sounds.
I want them disappear.
Rumble and noise.
Explosion.
Now.
There's no sound.
Memory of lilt.
Do you here?
The people sing...
Song of revolution,
Freedom.
Playing in mind.
This song
About,
About....
The light.
Ray
Of sunshine.
I see it clear
With closed eyes.
The ground is crumbling above me.
I'm reaching my hand.
To life.
Which's going to start.
Tomorrow.
I hear the choir.
I will meet you.
Tomorrow.
We will meet.
At the barricade.
Soul to soul.
***
18.02.2024
Ispiration by: "Les Misérables", summer and @R_A_Jones
YOU ARE READING
Dreams Of The Midnight
PoesíaBook of poems writed mostly at night, when I can't sleep. And dream. Then I am making dreams by myself. Because my head is hatful of dreams, wishes and stories... ~I hope you will like it, Atellrie
