Philosophy of Love. V. Speys

the tram stop

      I met with you.

      In a new denim dress

      In a mini-skirt blue.

      You’re alone, and a number of people

      You look into the rails of the canvas.

      Here the tram, there further, goes,

      Here in the crowd, you are not visible.

      And fearing that I will lose

      So, my favorite.

      I run and glance,

      And, having found, I sing in my heart.

      – Is that you? Nadia, hello!

      How are you? And how do you live?

      – Not really, you know.

      I knew you would find it me!

      – Can together, are you far?

      – Not! I’m married already…

      It broke off, something bending,

      The heart sank in the shower.

      Loneliness

      Like ringing funeral scary.

      As the crypt cools the imagination.

      And even say no sin

      You’re lonely, no regrets.

      I would run to the galleys in chains,

      The whip of the slave driver,

      I would love to take blows

      For a friend, at the deserted coast.

      But no, I’m alone without friends in this life.

      Drag existence somehow.

      Although I have, maybe something extra,

      But all this is so outwardly.

      In the soul of desolation and loss

      Those days that went through together,

      With you that was once,

      Now in heart you live mine.

      I wrote a portrait with Muses

      I wrote a portrait with the Muses visible,

      The lines went flat and the syllable.

      As if I’d met my beloved,

      With waterfall curls hair.

      Trembled and smell like flowering,

      As a motive lays down my syllable.

      He is in your eyes. In the spring

      Reflected in drops b could.

      No, these poems are few, few.

      Need to portrait thee write.

      To make the lines more beautiful

      Rainbow colors them to find…

      A phrase out of place

      Old Phrase meaning is simple,

      Sometime, with someone very famous,

      She fluttered a simple bird

      From the cell of words, it is open.

      Then in the space of phrases

      She was relevant and needed.

      And soon to the heights of dreams

      From easy to famous ascended.

      So became the phrase that winged.

      But soon tired of everything.

      And suddenly disappeared from the mouth somewhere.

      Where? In a book at all?

      But our Phrase wants to rotate

      In the circle of modern winged phrases.

      Out of place with the mouth to break,

      Among not relevant phrases.

      All went passed by

      Thou passed by,

      Did not notice again.

      Looking, as razor,

      As sharp word.

      Maybe thou would come to life,

      In my fairy tale true.

      What was once,

      What has become covered with dust.

      Dust of ardent hope;

      Meet us with you,

      So, my love, all,

      All went passed by…

      Ode to first love

      I loved you,

      Thou first love.

      As if the world has opened,

      Beautiful love with his thou loved.

      From the first early spring

      You with a dream, with a dream,

      As with you,

      I met with a vision.

      With that lively beauty,

      What gives us a Spring.

      With a sweet, tender dream

      In the passion, of passion, passion.

      The evening has come again

      Silence enveloped.

      In the sounds of the voice came to life

      Your voice of love.

      The river he splashed.

      Purred a trickle.

      I, as if all was waiting

      Since cute meeting secretly.

      And set off to look

      The voice is quiet and sad.

      Timidly wait at dusk

      Listen to the rustle of mystery.

      Twilight generously gave

      Stars sky, to dream.

      And treated me

      Moon ray sighted.

      And I found love

      In the lunar white decoration.

      And not for good reason went to the call

      With the Moon Beam we can see each other.

      But she did not call,

      But she did not come.

      Only myth it was.

      In life has become different.

      On the sandy shore

      On the sandy shore,

      By the river, on the tubercle.

      I am the watchman, and hold fugitives

      On a silver chain.

      And the fugitive is Thought

      And