Cold....
Cold....
It's so cold...
going inside my brain-house
doesn't mean anything new
for me
even more and more for you
within my tortured innocent inspiration
I continue to survive throw
my poems half-killed
with blood springs instead of eyes
with despair sky instead of dreams
my poems more than a life light
more than the largest sight
I see,
It is so cold
more in
then outside
because of your complacency,
It's really cold
till to the bones of my words
Cold....
poem by Vasil Marku
Added by Poetry Lover
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