Imprint of Heart. Illumination with love

He would not believe this deep gulf.
But the rogue was too greedy,
And in the ringing of coins he was not weedy.
He would have forgotten and refused,
He ran in love to her face confused.
“Wolf, darling, be my wife!
And we will not part with you in future life.
We will live in contentment and prosperity,
Love we both will have in short priority.”
The wolf fell open his mouth with surprise
And the swallowed little rabbit was not wise.

Lucy laughed at the irony and humor and read further:

Conversations

Only the day will come again,
The talk always hinders us.
There, the rivers start backwards,
They do not end arguing here thus.

Conversations, persuasion, slander, lamentations…
Why is any suffering, as if knowing ahead?
Flashes a week again. We take the trouble in return
To say morality the guidance forget.

Politics, music, sports.
From now on, everything became one.
Whoever was crawled,
That mind also ruled the world.

Covenants, slander, loss…
All this is not for boss.
When the fanfares are silently,
Headlights flicker obstinately.

Showcases temptingly shine.
What a beautiful wine!
And how much they pay
For the cycle way?

Weekdays, concerts, holidays,
Shows, vanity and pragmatism.
Ah, why do give advice?!
Everyone will think about cubism.

Turning over the notebook, she looked for the most vivid and colorful moments. The mood increased significantly, and she continued reading, forgetting about time. She liked the syllable and rhyme, but especially admired that the verse resembled a goblet. Mentally she put in this vase flowers presented by Alexey.

She, as a mathematician and programmer, was familiar with the exact number of characters needed to write poetry and versification. On the basis of mathematical formulas, it would be easy to create more complex figures, which is easy to achieve by following the mathematical logic.

But Lucy was disappointed when she took the next page and realized that the poems were dedicated to the fan-knight in the helmet.

Modern Knights

Who you are? Can you fate decide?
Or maybe you are builders, the tamers of universe!
Perhaps your name will be called
Ship, park, institute or other world.

You, the knight of the future, stand
Before me so handsome silent on land.
In business, in my thoughts, it’s time for me
To understand the essence of human being.

Forget the sorrows until the morning,
Let us sound the harmony!
I collect all the stars in the palm of my hand
And I’ll throw them over your head.

And with a blue mane a white horse
It will leave my long path.
To him I will affectionately say
To be faithful to the end anyway.

Only tie the mane near mound
I will not ask the bright crown.
Whether will I succeed in melodies?
More fully convey than in words?

Or I’ll be in helping of a few,
While walking on the morning dew?
Removed the visor and the fire gun.
You do not know the fear run.
This is a true living steel.
Be glorified in the ages will!

Such a flowerish poetry gamut she liked more and inspired to talk with Alexey. She dialed his number, but then deleted it.

The autumn evening evoked memories of police visits, interrogations, signing of papers, a meeting with the accused, a private detective and policemen. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves on the street, and it seemed that the leaves tell each other something important and interesting. Her head hurt. She turned off the music, picked it up from the table, and washed the dishes. Having finished her household affairs, she looked into her father’s room, where they sometimes met with Alex. The father slept with the sleep of the righteous. She closed the door and took the first book that fell into her hands and began to read, trying to find in it answers to the worried questions. She read “Walking on Torments” by Tolstoy not for the first time, and knew some places almost by heart.

Thoughts constantly jumped on the poetry of her girlfriend, and this poetic notebook worried more and more. She put the book aside, and her gaze fell on another page. Lucy read carefully:

Fatigue

Tired hands and feet, headache from rumor.
What’s a steep road? I do not mind more.
As if a pink bouquet, donated once,
I bear the dream for many years of wearisome hopes.

Frozen stormy sounds and words,