The park bench


Dust of  tears in a park bench ,

  in Brussels ...

That sunless day ,

rain wetting the eyes

of dead leaves ...

Absinth  of your skin ,

lake of absence ,

lost summer  and now,

a year and go ..

long memoride ,

your landscapes

travelling  in still life

and love style ,

on a park bench,

in Brussels...

Jesterday voyagers 

sitting on the beach 

of nights ...

Murmurs touching 

the cold abyss of the mirror ,

the ice cream man will no longer pass

in the  forbidden foliage...

Letters of water ,waverer  form,

engraved in the moody wood 

of the old park bench ...

Muppets grave orchestra ,

A year and few waves again,

   in Brussels...



  • Author: lorenz (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: September 17th, 2023 02:07
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 6


  • Maxine Smith

    A fine write

  • Darkfragrance

    Some objects hold in them the memory (just a little ride..) of the secret annals.Dear max' just the time to sit on the old bench and listen to the message.

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.