Poems about the Place.

Poems about the Place.
The mischief-maker is a monkey.
In our house a hooligan.
Do not lie in the way of things.
She hides them, believe me.
But they did not believe in flaws,
But all vanished – bananas.
Even tiles of chocolate …
Evaporated in our house.
Only candy wrappers in the album.
He walks with a joyful smile.
Monkey, let the toy,
But my beloved … girlfriend!
but I need you to know me forever,
to see again and not to go down from heaven.
I should be like I used to be.
And let fate do not belong here.
The desire is, I want to be forever.
I love you, “I say honestly.
And I understand, I think chaotically.
you know, forgive me for me.
for our constant quarrels from scratch.
for my rudeness.
reproaches. charges, everything is snowballing.
for what I am, what is.
now everything as it happened.
although, in fact, nothing happened.
But it can not be like this!
In fairy tales they write about monsters.
And about such as you – not a word.
Since then, I am for abortion ..
And there are problems with speech.
It is a pity such as you do not treat ..
Your place on the parachute ..
You know what my girlfriend is ??
Well, do not scare the people honestly.
Here’s a brick, go kill yourself.
Dismantling in the washbasin.
No, not lost, someone tidied up.
It’s probably a toiler of the rear.
Why did he steal right away?
Just decided to borrow for a while.
Maybe you should not just about theft?
Just forgot to put in place.
On the third day I put soap on the shelf.
“No, I’m sure that they did not take ours.
It’s probably a toiler of the rear. ”
We have lived, our hands have nothing to wash.
They take on the service of some opljugi.
Okay, I’ll have to go for a new one.
If you do not mind in your thoughts,
Remain further and sardine,
If there is a short place in the pot …
The Koran was burnt.
The infidels have broken the law.
And now the crowd is going to the street,
To cut the heads of the guys from the UN.
After all, from time immemorial, there would be only a reason,
You do not care whose hands you have to heat.
So, he must die!
They came here to help you,
We came here from different countries.
And is it their fault that there, in America.
The mad pastor burned the Koran somewhere.
You never plowed, did not sow,
And your women know how to give birth.
But show me in the Koran a place,
Where does your Allah teach you to kill.
There are many friends among the Muslims.
But I hate the vile Islamists,
In its interpretations of the Koran.
Midnight scream.
Hiding the clutter of silence.
And it makes the heart suddenly stop …
That he only heard me?
From the fragments of small life.
Fill the soul with a poison of black contempt,
Making the look cover with ice …
Why should I feel this?
The farewell ringing of the bells.
And the cold of the earth’s grave.
Remained in my memory.
Erasing the borders was easy,
Playing in something that you can not play.
And the result was a wasteland.
In place of former feelings and scales.
Again, consciousness torn to shreds,
Tearing off the mask of ice.
And breaking the fragile ice,
And turns the surviving moments.
In the darkness, chaos and shards of dreams,
Changing “before” and “before”
On “many years ahead”.
And the blind bird is spinning over the fire.
Unable to rise to the sky,
A limp clot of pain.
In a non-cooling fire …
Already Dawn is not far off!
Woe to all the wisdom of the ages.
Madness will not be in your head.
Love will save you from bondage.
Not the first ray is sparkling.
And the road opens.
One who listens to Mind.
There will be no tears, resentment and evil.
Darkness will lay down its head on the block.
And he will never come back.
Hope the ray shines in his eyes.
He is enlightened minds.
And the truth burns in the hearts!
Do you know where it is lighter?
It’s so cold in the field. Dull.
The sea has piles of stones.
The road was filled with rain.
I’m looking for a place for a grave.
In the birch kingdom yours.
Drowned in the pools of the eyes!
The monks betrayed you,
Reinforcing to God praying.
And the heart is tired to burn.
That’s just about the past is not necessary.
Neither think, nor lie, nor regret.
So that the willow bent over it,
So that the free birds circled.
Above the memory of ancient stones.
Let somebody become brighter,
Let this chamomile evening.
Will wash the expanses of fields.
That’s how it’s impossible to leave.
In death, such laws,
And there is no other way.
Will be near the loom looms,
In this on-the-field.
The competitor does not sleep does not sleep.
Also it is ready on meanness.
You can go far away.
With on-the-back technology.
Do you remember?
Than a place of the left childhood.
And I do not want to sleep at night …
It smells quite different,
And to believe every word.
And the nightingale is heard all night.
And the stars in the sky are so bright,
It is more expensive not to give a gift,
Than just looking.
And inhale their delicate fragrance …
Again I wait for you,
When the fiesta ends in Italy,
In my soul there is still room,
In yourself, your warmth,
I ask the question, but I do not fall in love,
Vasily Vasilyev 03:41 04.01.11.
He did the story himself,
And he washed the swastika here.
their own blood.
He fell, but then he got up,
let more pain.
He knew the truth about the war,
for that with whom quits,
whose ashes he barely breathed,
in the village broken,
who rotten behind his back whispered,
and who was tagged.
He fell, but then he got up,
He wrenched off the curve of fate.
He opened his courage.
But he was already exhausted,
His country is no longer the same,
But, the same, the same Earth with him,
he was faithful to her.
The native land embraced,
She does not care who is forgotten by whom,
He does not get angry, it will sprout.
birch in the mound.
And again the sun and heat.
in the same place,
And he is free and alive,
without any if …
Whenever I knew this, it would be easier to live,
And so in the shower sweep.
That you want to forgive and forget everything.
But is there room for forgiveness in it?
She shouts love and be loved.
And I’m in response. Shut up.
Your love, it’s gone, she’s dead, cold.
With a smirk, I look at the soul.
To regret? Whom ?! Yourself? What for?
I have long ago destroyed the tower of self-pity for myself.
Years pass, there is already no salvation.
I hide fear, already silent my own.
The soul is alive. Yes, the strength is gone. How there is no peace.
Written at night from 28-29.12.2011.
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