I own a pit of disappointment and a brass band of innate torture
So, as I walk through offshoots in hope for a sign of spring,
I find dryness, and grey illusions and not a single dream
I see stories that lie in stillness as marble pieces and funerary stones,
And the time that dissipates as if the world stopped breathing all at once for a vain aim
I hear sirens that scream for danger, for spells that have been broken, for bones that have been shattered
I look at statues as petrified mourning, as threads of hope that turned into bedtime monsters
I keep going on the narrow ways, I search for flowers that smell like truth and bring black and white visions
I seek birds that sing for sorrow, and flies that are no good omen
I pick roses to remind me with every thorn how sweet words turn to be
I sense the grass as small epees, and the wind as an invite for lucid dialogues in loud minds
I gather leaves to see how quick the green dies from everything
I rummage through sand as an ant through obstacles, knowing there might be a path somewhere
I wander in the silent garden, but I can only feel the rain with all its blades.

Join the conversation! 6 Comments

  1. “I can only feel the rain/with all its blades” Love it

    Liked by 1 person

  2. ” I search for flowers that smell like truth …” – my favourite line!

    Liked by 1 person


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About words on a blackboard

In a world of poems, Words steal love and put it on a blackboard

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