I am dreaming among tossed away, firered paperbirds. I dont have neither wings or voice, I don't have any chance to escape from this rusty cage. I would tear off their wings, If I could appriximate you. Your sunshines had burnt me already, Your Flames are glowing on my blossoming flowers, which were growing in my lungs. Blue, Gold, and Green, are being turned into poison.
But the Love which is hidden behind the clouds, which collected my parts of my heart, This Love, have been watering my field of soul, that become desert. In this dry and empty desert, sometimes I recognise shoots, which are look like mirage. I should call it hope, but it is so evanesence. It is born from dawn, in intoxicated words.
I become the person, who wear mask, which are made from dead flowers. But one day, it went to ruin step by step.
My masks are fall apart.
That was the day, when the flowers didn't write anthem for the Sun.
Hy, my fellows, I am a beginner writer, or the pen(?) of the writers, who wanted to try out some new shit, like this.
YOU ARE READING
Not Art.
PoetryWhat should I say? These are little shorts. I am not a good writer, I would like to improve myself, so that is why I am trying to write something.
