Poetry

The night – Peycho Kanev

The moon talks to me
and tells me stories of tortures
and burned love;
sad songs are pouring out from
broken window
and here is only the smell
of stale wine and cigarettes;
outside
dogs are wailing in the dark
and nothing is real more than
it should be,
the dark stillness of time
is hanging like a broken clock
and finally the night
locks me in.

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2 thoughts on “The night – Peycho Kanev

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