Poetry by Vladimir Fischer
Photo by Lydia Mailloux
“Whisper coming from the lips…”
Survival mode –
is when the music’s wrong,
when the bones refuse to hold
the burden of my soul.
Everything’s a heavy load
on the street that’s lit
with sunset tears, and
fragmented dreams
lay shattered on the road
remembering the rock
that broke the unity of sand of fire.
Whisper coming from the lips
filling up the void
of the commercial detachment joint.
I’ve long lost the point
and all I’m hoping
for the song to come and
cheer me up, like those morning birds
reminding us that night has passed.
Poetry by Vladimir Fischer
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