Tim Skorenko


Goodbye, Poet. We have long forgotten how to read
But the art of writing, unfortunately, not be forgotten in time
Two thousand years from the birth of Jesus Christ,
Or, maybe, more. Abandoned in the past bearing

Will not allow you to see the picture in its entirety,
The cavalcade of eras ending is infinitely beautiful...
...Goodbye, Poet. Among hundreds of scattered bodies,
Absorbed by the earth, you are the only formed from the front, but

What is that to you? Because granite as you may say,
You will not hear a word and it is unlikely anything will answer
Stupid question. And will have to climb in dictionaries
To find encrypted stanzas to the moment of your death.

Goodbye, Poet. You became a foreign country
Next-to-last shelter on the difficult road to the Valhalla,
Where reading each other poetry, where there is white,
Where nobody's getting killed, where no steel.

I say goodbye to you through the years. Someday we
Waited in that world where I'm still too early.
You're not dead, poet. You escaped from the bodily prison
Going through all the posts, dressed in the robes of security.

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