Ruin gallery

Konstantin B.

I was walking on a scorched edge
Some fabulous roads.
I thought - I don't know,
But that not to think - I could not.
And half-dead ruins
Half-forgotten cities
Silence was like pictures,
Like the voice of memorable years.
I remembered, I dodged. ,
I changed every moment.,
But closer, closer lean
I have my own double.
And tiresome flashed
From a half-blind height,
From the darkness of the ruins, from the bright distance,
Not talking flowers.
But on a steep sudden slope,
Among the stones, I realized again,
That life breathes in a dumb den,
That there is immortal love.

Photographer gallery Music Art Draughtsman