Heart Сore

This evening smells as dry leaves of autumn and electric light,
Lipstick, perfume of city and a cold tonight.
The distance makes me painted upon a scrap,
Far as the stars whose light dissolved in city lanterns web.

In a picture I sit on the bench in middle of the street.
My hair covers face, eyes looks through earth to meet
With yours, to feel your soul, even for some instants,
With speed of expectation penetrating times and distance.

The sceneries are passing to and fro
By one, who have both will and mind, but he is drawn.
It makes reflect that time pass by you too, and it
Is measuring off every step with every your heartbeat.

Even from here, I would like to weave
The finest flower from my thoughts, my feelings and my grief.
The flower, whose beauty the stars are envied,
And I endow it with harmony that your heart to feed.

And I believe, this finest flower I have made,
Will be forever blossoming, will never fade.
And palpitation of the painted heart, I hope,
Upon a scrap of paper will not stop...






Poetry by Black Knight
Read 832 times
Written on 2006-02-16 at 19:23

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Zoya Zaidi
"I would like to weave
The finest flower from my thoughts, my feelings and my grief."

And make a bouquet of my heart's wounds,
A spear from the sorrows of my soul,
And present you with my sword and flowers,
With one to kill, with other to shower!

((((((hugs Kostiya))))))

Love, xxx, Zoya
2006-02-16