And the doctors like the saint priests
With long grey unforgettable lists…
“The wedding of the fir”, the folk song says
Without a bit of sarcasm, I have counted my days;
It seems a nightmare about the end of the world…
What does it mean? Why me, my Lord?!...
It’s like a partial end of the world cut down by swords
I wanted to say more but I lost the words. I lost the words…
And a claw clenched my throat.
"I don’t know”… what he thought?
"Maybe you chocked over a little bone".
And I understood he also felt pretty alone.
“I don’t know…I saw such cases only a few”
He said and he also felt alone in the crew.
And the grass will grow over us, one given day
And we wait the moment, poor people of clay.
And God started the rain again and I must pray
And I ran away…I ran away…I run away…
"I don’t know…" my friend, also said;
And the sun was so burning red.
“Certainly there is a foreign thing.”
“Actually, it could be a bit of anything.
“Maybe a berry, a little stone, pep, or a seed…
Pride and many causes might easily lead
To the same result as envy, jealousy, hate…
You may ask the help of a pope, if not too late.
It could be mercury dropped from sky in the dew,
A grain of dust, a grain of truth, something that grew
Too powerful to be endured; X-rays can show only a spot …”
My thought repeated: “I need good faith. If I have got…”
“A shiver, a bone, a coin, or maybe a tooth…”
That feeling of being captive in the booth:
I looked for an apple as red as my heart…
“Maybe it’s your solitude; or a virus smart...”
“See the wave on the blue silent of the lake.
“We would extract it, well…a piece of cake…”