Lights by zenyat on DeviantArt (original) (raw)

No one will be in the house,

Except at dusk. One

A winter day in a doorway

Open curtains.

Only white wet lumps

A quick flash of the flywheel.

Only roofs, snow and, except

Roofs and snow, no one.

And the frost will start again,

And he'll turn me around again

Last year's gloom

And the affairs of winter are different,

And they still sting until now

Unrequited guilt,

And the window on the crosspiece

The wood-burning hunger will be suppressed.

But unexpectedly on the curtain

A tremor will run through the intrusions.

Measuring the silence with steps,

You, as the future, will enter.

You will appear from the door

In something white, without quirks,

In some ways, it really is one of those matters,

From which flakes are sewn.

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