The smoke rises,
and the steam from the boiled water in my mate also rises,
seeking the light
filtering through the window.
It appears.
It disappears.
It's a magic trick.
Marking, perhaps,
the fate of everything?
It returns to the firmament.
And it rains.
Three.
Six.
Nine.
Repeat.
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Author:
Damaso (
Offline) - Published: June 11th, 2025 07:25
- Comment from author about the poem: The condensed sheet metal taught me, with drips on my leaves, that everything returns transformed.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments2
It is the nostalgia brought by the steam off of the mate that triggered the fave.
(The smoke rises,
and the steam from the boiled water in my mate also rises,
seeking the light)
Memories of the past and the combined metaphor of the cycle of life, this paired with the seeking of the light a fantastic touch where all that pass through this cycle seek the light, the understanding of it all. A wonderful poem
Nostalgia bearing wisdom, nothing stays the same, everything is transformed in one way or another as it completes it cycle, combined with essence of our existence to search for the light, pleasure to read as always
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