Сложные стихи на английском

The greenish liquid became pasty and was served impeccably al dente.

Got toppled down, fumbled an offensive breakaway.

We floated on coagulated milk with all its curdles but without whey.

Some unbeknown forces covered wavy surface with that resinous parquet.

And if we were to slide it over, we’d surely need a non adherent sleigh.

We pulled the reins, it fell, we heard its neigh.

The agony had bruised the poor albino down to bay.

Then came the mutilated vessel’s gloomy bray.

Much like a cry of help of some prostrated, hammered-drunk hombre.

Which meant the sailing donkey was reluctant to obey.

We shouldn’t have harnessed it to our heavy dray.

From now on in desperation I will overstay.

I’ll hide in a deep crevice just like some moray.

Relationships were never my forte.

My heart’s glued piece by piece as though it were papier-mache.

It’s desecration you purvey.

And chaos is your wicked mainstay.

Of such atrocities that I cannot convey.

You overwhelmed me, devil’s protеgе.

My spirit’s gone, I’m not okay.

I cannot frame the words to pray.

They merely scatter, edge away.

“I’ve come too far, and yet it’s scarcely halfway.”

Cries my grotesque naivetе.

To the salvation deck it’s pointless to make a getaway.

Alas, my crew reports on a blockaded, flooded stiff companionway.

We fizzle out and what we lack lies in a subtle interplay

Of shrilling cries, beseeching moans and harsh melee.

Alack, no shooting curses, no derogatory gunplay.

The fortress, drowning, fell under the liquid missiles of the sieging trebuchet.

“You’d rather die than simply turn an еmigrе.

When danger’s dead ahead you gently pull your fears sternway.”

“Your perseverance and a steadfast stand I could perpetually inveigh.

Against my boisterous depths you’ll fail to make a treacherous foray!

Yet you’ll eventually submerge my ominous abyss not to survey.

The havoc that you triggered trampling over their dubious clichе.

Being the one to rampantly usurp the throne of the ideas dеmodе.

Well, writhing in a torrid desolation that you overplay,

You are but a malingerer who feigns debility in a sickbay.

An imitator who has mastered mimicry of a Eurasian jay.

See, I love herons, and I’ll make you emulate one on a torturous piquet.

False prophet by the look of whom his lies yourself you can soothsay.

Self-flagellate and for the sins of yours your flesh shall pay?

What kind of master is it who keeps pain as a valet?

Thrown on a dismal, spiny wasteland, you will never blade your way.

Where all the expense of your insignificance dejection shall defray.

I wish I could absolve you of your ignorance, although I’m no padre.

I’m the one who’ll marry you to failure – that a most promiscuous fiancеe -

Mrs. Lameduck, Lostcause, Lowlife so many more nee

Up-and-coming that a most seductive shay.