Стихи

Concerto is performed exquisitely that much
to make me see an angel bloody-winged fore way.
His itching paws with claws adjusted so to clutch
his praying prey to play and mercilessly slay.

He has baroque attire, and clumsy is the pose,
which serves a supplement to his horrendous look
to cause a prayer gush and gurgle, as a brook,
from bowing one in swamp of laws or maws of woes.

In memory of past carefree it's being played —
the past intermittent and flitting as a leave,
so warm in contrast to impending ghastly fate —
with lucid hope on top of withering relief.

09.09.2022