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Eliya

Экспериментальная поэзия

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The dying stare The dying stare, the stare of death Was in her eyes; and whole her face Was very pale, Without any drop of blood. She was a goddess for her god. But she was frail. The dying sigh, the sigh of death Was nothing more but plea for breath. She was refused. Without him she was forlorn Her heart was tortured and torn, Her soul was abused. She lost a gift, the gift to live; She burnt her wings to be with him And got his love. But bliss was short; Oh, feigned bliss! And with first rays, and sweet last kiss Her soul soar’d like a dove.

© Eliya, 2005

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