Rain pearls sliding down the glass
like sweet tears at the funeral of happiness.
A few drops of water on the face of life
wont change the meaning of words ,
apologizing for what they no longer remember,
sending each other bouquet of metallic flowers
to decorate the marble of decorum ...
I'm just this old poet who thinks he has talent
and only runs after the wind ...
On his agenda ,oblivious to the season's rendez vous .
I question the muses who answer me with pretty liars...
Solitude invites itself like a Breughel's unfinished flemish sky.
White hairs have no compassion for dead leaves
slowly dying in a final pirouette ,who say ''I'm waiting for you ! ''
These droplets caressing the cold of sad hours
arouse in me a strange nostalgia,that makes you want to leave...
I loved you .
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Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 19th, 2024 08:18
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: Sealgair, Ellen Marsell, isa kemmy
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Comments3
Your poem is deeply touching, like a quiet conversation with the soul. Strong, impressive images.
Droplets of inspired boredom...
Wow! some great lines here (White hairs have no compassion for dead leaves ) and the great use of a homophone in liars. Nicely worded
This rain-laden wind invites melancholy ...
Great write
thanks a lot Tony !
You're welcome
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