••• wild flower black of my lips. .
must I woke up in the middle of a dream?
the fantasy that I never dream about it,
the mind of my heart in words.
with who should I speak like the water that flows,
in waves of my grave soul?. . .
waiting is the time that we must count,
it will come like a blessing from the sky!
my dreams will remain only my dreams.
pins of my dark thoughts in the gray sea.
like a feather life goes it's not coming back.
in the end will be my tragedy and yet, I wait.
- A. A. Popovici,