Please tell me, is it worth appreciating
the silence
that will eventually replace
you and your crimson breath?

Cured of my iconoclastic longing,
I am falling apart
like a house of cards
built by your whisper.

I am trying to free myself
from last year's sky, but I know
that you are still guarding
my soul.

Locked in my own shadow,
I raise a toast to a happier world.
When the last bell
falls silent, I will renounce
my freedom, I will forget
about loneliness.

An hour will be born
in me that knows neither light
nor penance.
Perhaps one morning
I will understand that victory
is not dedicated to me.

I will open my mouth,
close the window.
I am not afraid of tomorrow's
illusions, of another painless evening.

To me she was rain
Often gently in the background
A soothing constant
She was nurturing
Life giving
Everything she touched seemed to flower
But she could also take you by surprise
A sudden deluge
Hammering
Fierce
Droplets like fire on your face
That would have you running for shelter
But what I liked most
Was when she stormed
The unbridled passion
The tang of electricity in the air
When the wind whipped around your face
And rain tangled in your hair
She would stand with her arms outstretched
As free and as wild as the storm

Last night I dreamed
That I drowned
In the tears you cried for me

When I woke
I could not wash the taste of salt
From my mouth

I am an Angel of Death
I signify your end
But I am still an Angel
And you crave my nearness
Knowing it will destroy you

The mechanics of panic,
Oh, so plain to see,
Yet the crowd, volcanic,
Cools, then cries, "Agree!"

Few will learn the lessons
Failure dares to teach,
While the rest, in sessions,
Burrow out of reach.

Fate’s a grim arena
For the meek to play—
Frightened, bent, and beaten
Under devils’ sway.


In Russian:

В дупель простые способы испугать дураков

Паники механика
В дупль проста, но чернь,
От кнута и пряника
Поостыв, вновь в "верь!"

Окунётся. Учатся
На ошибках лишь
Единицы. Мучиться,
В норку словно мышь

Убежав, судьбина
Большинства людей —
Пуганных кретинов
Под пятой чертей.

their
forms
like
wax
melted
in
white
smears
down
their
vase

star­­s
abandon
them

their
moon
eclipsed

beautiful
still
the
sun
whi­c­h
once
sustained
them
is
now
their
sworn
enemy

and
their
cloyi­ng­
scent
fills
only
the
nostrils
of

the

dead



SoulSurvivor
(­C­) 1/31/2016