❛Отцы и учители, мыслю: «что есть ад?» Рассуждаю так: «Страдание о том, что нельзя уже более любить».❜ Братья Карамазовы (Часть вторая) - Федор Достоевский
In Frankfurt somewhere stands a wall
Between a U-Bahn and a church.
It’s not so wide and hardly tall
But waits for those who care to search.
Unless you’re heading home in haste,
You can’t ignore the art on show
That only those with time to waste
Observe below the moonlight glow.
It’s monochrome, in shades of blue.
Out of the blue some face appears,
Awake for dreams that seem so true,
For “love can’t sleep,” she’d say in tears.
A shroud of absence hugs your heart.
You chant them, silent Orphic screams, as blues,
And count the sheep till ghosts depart.
You’re keeping vigil, dead in dreams that snooze.
You worry though and wait and wane.
A blinking eye, a fainting lull,
And love may leave us off the train,
All numb at dawn, with nights so dull.
Alas! The pain is all in vain,
The wait is barely worth the woe.
It wears you out in watchful strain
Before the rooster starts to crow.
The bliss won’t bloom on beds of roses,
Adorned with buds all torn by thorns.
They bleed the heart, until it dozes,
For dreams to paint the face it mourns.
This love can’t sleep, and yet the night,
If painted blue, in heaven’s hues, can fill
The lonesome lair with languid light.
But half a love is half a slumber, still.
