Well, what can I do to live ...

< Felix Komarov



Well, what can I do to live,
Not forgetting to inhale and exhale?
Circling over the field owl.
Shouts feathered offense.
Who gave this cry of the soul?
Who is the audience of the grim jokes?
And what's left for me,
When tile nots
Garnish with a dash between the dates ...
I'll be glad, or sorrow? ...
But how do you know in the last wave,
The one that will replace it?
And the pain like a hornet bites,
To compound things.
A piercing point of view.
Needle sticks into the pupil.
And this pain has joy,
It does not hurt a blank sheet of paper.
It will write the pain and flour
And I have set in front ...
But not grasp the wind sound
And the earth is full cry.