A Cry

Saša Milivojev - A CRY Apollo’s discus Fine blond hair The echo of the universe The strong winds of Zephyr The sun’s heat Melted the wax wings And I fall again Why am I not a shadow To be torn into two pieces In the air Why do I not have an apple instead of a heart To have an arrow driven through it Why is uncertainty so agonising Let the blade cut the neck A curse A choir is singing Purple colours of dreams A verse fallen from the lips The thirst of withered lilies From whose petals We will hear a woeful Cry Saša Milivojev www.sasamilivojev.com