автор: yotovava

The hope for tomorrow
makes me feel a sorrow
for day left behind
and stayed in my mind,
so blue and so soft,
like vision of ghost,
like whisper of child.
Why the hope for the morn
is prickling like torn?
My thoughts slept at last
mid the future and past,
at this smoky dusk
in beginning of hours
where the beam of the sun
horizon draws.