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

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