Humming elegiac nocturne
he strode throught life poisoned with lies
and he picked flowers, which have never
been offered to anybody...
Then he kissed their petals calling them
dreams,
admiring their diversity.
He always liked the wilted ones,
the ones he often found on graves.
He felt, they had more beauty then the fresh ones,
untouched by the claw of passing time
the real forms of excellence - he felt, that the
other ones have something more to say...
When he took a flower to his hand
all seemed strangely concetrated, scared us
by eerie expectation of Something...
This Something was everywhere, in each element
of his disorted world, in his tragism;
It observed us from each precipice of mind,
it shone with a glitter of malicious stars
suspended on the verge of reality and imagination.
Each of these flowers randez-vous was his love
and each of his loves was something entirely new,
something elusive - as he said.
Because you cannot touch Beauty without
understanding it, without being convinced
that it is valuable.

The years elapsed...And he still
kissed these flowers sneering at life,
which he deprived of charm...
And finally he stole all the colours...
And even the sun stopped shining,
as there was nobody to shine for...
Then he cried... putting his head between his knees.
And his tear crossed the sky...
and bore unfaith.

Today nobody remembers him,
today they are the New...
Humming this mournful nocturne
striding throught life poisoned with lies
and pick his flowers...
It is a sacrifice for Eternity,
culmination of life...
victory
The memories watered with divine tears.
Now, may I leave ?!