Saturday, August 29, 2015

The day that summer died by Vernon Scannell


From all around the mourners came
  The day that Summer died,
From hill and valley, field and wood
  And lane and mountainside.

They did not come in funeral black
  But every mourner chose
Gorgeous colours or soft shades
  Of russet, yellow, rose.

Horse chestnut, oak and sycamore
  Wore robes of gold and red;
The rowan sported scarlet beads;
  No bitter tears were shed.

Although at dusk the mourners heard,
  As a small wind softly sighed,
  A touch of sadness in the air
  The day that Summer died.

Friday, August 21, 2015

ME: Сутрин


Ароматът на праскови сутрин
и допира на твоята плът.
Парата от чашата вряло кафе
и гъдела от топлия душ.
Слънцето вплело лъчи във косите,
И шепота на всички тези листа.
Ласката на нежната ти ръка
и щастието в погледа на странник...


Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Remorse by "Genetic Poetic"



Love is all he knows,
Like doves, he reeps what he cannot sow,
Completely seeping where you cannot go,
Secretly creeping on his toes,
And there it goes,

Waking up a stranger to the morning sun,.
After shaking from danger,

He cannot live without her his heart speaks out in anger, 
She's the last out, to give what they were, from back in the start, for' she sneaked around,
Turned his whole world upside down,
He grabs the gun and preys his last prayers, she stabbed his heart, and it teared and teared,
Life's not fair life's not fair, the underkeeper gloomed,
The gun killed today, and a love much steeper bloomed.

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