The melancholy landscape
in hollow anger
in crystal glasses,
the faint stench of sigh.

Cigarette smoke is waiting
dreams off,
and it's doors close
Looks right.

At the scattered desk
platinum sheet,
broken windows
by the familiar winds.

Poisoning in the chest
every breath and pain
gray sold out
for other behavior

But you close your eyes
and the mind is sleeping,
Moon will not moonlight
get out of the way

The light is blown in the dark,
lure opens the charm
hugging thoughts
with lovers

That is the shadow of the times
and one day in this life,
make sad eyes
forget in the morning.

Everything you did for me is smile,
My veins feel you complete me,
Moments whisper I kiss your soft lips,
And my soul flying to heaven.

Cry.
Don’t cry,
Do not hang your head, my neighbors.
You cannot choose when you die,
When your woes are straining,
The careful muffled sound of heartbreak
Of the deep silence of the souls.
A giant **** in his own backyard,
It is “ride or die”.
And you can choose how you die.
And nothing more, and nothing more.
And we’re no more, and we’re no more.
But be alive, alive and only,
Alive and only to the end.
Wind, keep singing for them, do not wane,
And in it, now forever.
Arise, arise now, brother-soldier.
Freedom is never free.

I am invisible, hidden in an inner calm, as a flock of flamingos flying in the light and faded in the mist.

Cold January. Heated furnace.

And you, my dear, refuse to sleep.

I think of you.

And lights across the window sweep,

And droplets freeze upon its surface.

My eyes meet yours. We dim the lights.

And suddenly, as one, we’re breathing

My hands, around you, interweaving,

I recollect the gone by nights.

My heart is burning, raging wild.

You place, your hand upon my chest.

Confess, softly whisper, “child...”

Only the silence when I can’t deny it.

In your heart, in my heart
I had sung an ancient song to you.
And then I wrote in blood, within my soul. Death is but a wisp of shadow,
where no one is.
O Lady,
awake, awake...

My love, my passion, my hands

    ... my darkness, my past, my tears

The flames were extinguished after night storm, leaving only ashes and smells of smoke.

My darkest art is different shades of the same color.

She always had a hidden river in the heart to call her, flowing to the shadow of swans in the ancient castle.

Love comes to everyone in many times, many different ways. For those who have been loved, love lives forever …

My goodness, my divine is her soul. My mundane madness tends to the death of the soul.

A lot of things want to leave in her arms, but it is time for my waves to go to it is roots. Safe and sweetness ... That is too much to taste her kisses.

In the church, sermons are preached to the called believers
From the windows of that place that illuminates its rooms.
and the beat, the beat of your heart
invite me.

On the crowded street in holiday day
The day she met him.
She remember she invited him to celebrate
The day people waving flags,
run, laugh ...
all day up and down
marching friends.

Because it was dusk,
she suggest staying at home
to continue the celebration.
It was accepted.
They were celebrate homeland until morning.

The morning has gone,
He left, and he found her again
on Gorky street from the beginning
“My homeland”, He said,
“I need you”
and “I love you”.
“Yes”, She said
“I'm ready in every sacrifice "
And then
they get married.

Time passed, he was disappeared.
She always finding him
on the same path.
He never remembered her in the morning.
Only in the evening, like midnight
she was worried,
she sleep one bed in her arms
He still left
more and more ...

At least that's ways he appearance
when she was over years
She quit looking for him.
Waited him in the darkness alone, to look
He also stopped lying down
every night ...

And one night he never go home again ..
She did not find out when the door opened ...
Then she closed the door.
She stand before her whole life
a dream of the past, forgotten dreams ...
She tired to cry on her knees,
She stepped into the chest and locked it.

Poets and writers are stricken with poverty.
Modernism is all about the profits.
I’ve sold my soul and blood
And still my name remains unmentioned.

I close my eyes and take you here,
I am lost in your brown eyes ...

I close my hands and I feel your body,
My breath take in your every breath.
You are the sea, I am a small harbor
In the waves whispers your hair, somewhere I live ...

Far away,
listening to the waves on the boat,
I call your name again and again before the dawn.

The sorrow of the soul is heavier than the sand of the sea.

I take a deep breath to feel your soul filled in my heart.

Power is power,
War is cruelty,
Honesty and determination.
Who can refine it when the guns begin.
I knew what a sweat blood it was,
The heartlessness of ideas,
and we are here is beyond history and hurt.
Look, the hostile world
while all flee in terror.

Neither side won,
neither side lost.
How many people are there
whose wishes have been so answered?
Voters like me who seemed to have had their way,
Sit down, ******,
pack your bags
and prepare to depart the Oval Office.
The future is ours.

But the hour comes and it’s night, I find to a quiet corner to hear myself reason, think to write — a sort of secret passion.

A dedication of love was ingrained in blood and memory.

The best place for writing poetry is sit by a river.
especially when leaving a loved one,
if you know she’ll go back there eventually,
in some week, in a month, or a year,  you would be able
to write with a loudest mind
but you must
know you’ll never see her,
and so it’ll be merely a monologue

Begin the poem with separation,
writing,
selflessly giving it everything in you
out of selfishness, out of need for sympathy.