Vladimir Romanov military biography

Sand runs ... it's grains of life. The poem "Bittering on the lips ..." And indeed, it is unlikely that anyone really thought about where and how to find the medicine to cure the mental wounds that Olga writes about: everything is drunk, everything is compared, and the soul is not a gram, but a pood! It would be a plantain to her, only the herbs will not save the grass from those wounds that the poor soul was crucified on the cross.

The poem "The world was weaving in black and white ..." The soul of the poet is so arranged that it hurts much stronger than the souls of ordinary people because at least that often asks itself to itself and the surrounding world, which are not always answered. This is how Valenteeva asks his sister a question, not that to the country that overnight by evil of those whose mind has taken possession of only the devil, became an enemy for his loved ones: my sister, my soul, how did you and I are on different shores?

And my pain again rings with metal, and I read fear in your eyes. My sister, my fault, how did you and I are on different shores? The poem "To the book" Silent Goddess "" So Tatyana Goryunova speaks of a sprayed world for which you need to fight: the world is so beautiful and alive surrounds us, my friend, with you!

A bloody battle is being conducted for him with the fact that a person is roding with fate for her, I may not wake up. The poem "For Victory" and immediately memory returns it to a peaceful life, describing it with bright colors: I like to collect flowers on a dawn. In their light color serenity, non -trampled dew, which gives tenderness, so much likes me to dip it!

The poem "I like to collect flowers on a dawn ..." But Natalia Efremova’s appeal to her beloved city seems to be more like a prayer: my city is silver in the Moon mean threads. He breathes in the wrong way of the shaky hemispheres ... wounded, stands with fragments of events in the peals of lightning thunderstorms. It seemed that the tears of the road would disperse in the shower, but again the dawn would paint the line of heaven.

And the guy in the hospital let him read the legless "agree" in the long -awaited SMS. The poem "The Wounded City" Her poem dedicated to the beauty contest among girls with disabilities is amazed that in the city that is eight years in the frontline zone, such events are held: I see a couple in bright photos: she is in a stroller of the clock, he squeezes it gently ...

The couple is beautiful! Does someone know them? The poem "To remain a woman is an art! Poem" Let the Earth rotate! We will sit in a broken living room, to drink from the cups of broken. We will look at other people's stars through a round in the roof. You do not get distracted by all these nonsense, the bells of your bread is the fuck ... And you agree with the poetess that you probably really need to survive, learn this: to control yourself, keep your face,.