Evening By Ivan Petryshyn

Evening enslaving my being
making the eyes to sleep,
eyes are closing slowly
making the prayers’ words weep,
hope is weighing so little,
but implicit is faith,
oh, I remember, my colleague,
we have touched the bases.
I was planning to do,
what I was planning to,
but the broken machines,
that you have never seen,
have just ruined my plans
making me to write…
sorry, it is too late-
dear fremds, good night!
Ivan Petryshyn