Дата: 18-10-2009 | 02:26:43
A long-eared demon,
scribbled on an ancient urn,
stretches his fingers
trying to reach the lyre
and play the chord
that has been on his mind
for several centuries.
The chord grows brighter, higher
with each repeated failure
to be attained,
and in the demon's head
becomes so polished,
so balanced that no real chord
can be compared
with this unuttered sound.
But if the glaze cracked
and freed the demon's fingers,
he wouldn't dare touch the lyre,
for the melodious
impossibility would be reduced
to an unpractised twang – and die.
Вланес, 2009
Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 790 № 73607 от 18.10.2009
0 | 0 | 1653 | 21.11.2024. 11:40:02
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