dull cloudy day the light of letters,
time again cries out to be flattered,
misses the role to be cherished by the ink of the poet,
but the day is gray, dry, cold
A poet can not always write
or strain to it, the words
not always a beautiful day or a statuesque muse
or the simple fact that you exist,
reader that the poet can write
We took refuge behind the benches of oblivion, because
can not write what I write? Dime
Why write beautiful songs?
Where are you? Dear
inspiration glow of dawn
not find you, you're lost, away from my world
you're long, I only have letters
past
and beautiful image of the face of my inspiration from my angel
gone, goodbye
camouflaged by the coldness Dress Burda
society stole my angel, I
stole the inspiration time Help me, save me God
sadness in my mornings
abundant and essentially runs through my nights
There is inspiration and not her!
What shall I write?
more than the sad verses of life
This life without you, angel
not disappear even if the inspiration Leave
to rewrite the words
love once known off thousands, do not run
inspiration you need
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