Island of my soul

Island of my soul In the end of road of veins, Under protection of ribs and heart, The soul island, earth of sense, Motivation, aggression and art. Those dried tree with swings, I grew, Those graves that roots of it surround, Those abandoned and broken grow, Those tears's river, that flow around Those tree is more, than burned wood, It had a point, than became nomening I stayed with the foto of childhood, Where emotion's tree was blooming. Wooden plates on lonely graves Like «dreams», or «laugh», «mentalitet», Will tell your more about myselfs They tell you what I burried yet. This grow is gray, and fluently chick, How lived his owm house and parent, He flew away, and than get sick For whose he lived — he doesn't matter, My sense, my past, my missed hopes, Those river goes through loosed time And thousands of my ripped notes, And rusty disappoint that also mine. The strings of river will never die, They are eating hearts, that are inside. Water is dead, so shores — too dry, And nothing will grow in earth behind. Tree's swings is only thing that move, You can sway all night, if you're an owl. You can join it all day, if you're a lark. You can stay and watch at island of my soul.