I sat facing the blank page of my inspiration .
Multifaced past searching a reflection in the rain,
when scripture comes in four seasons of fall ,
and a few moons ...
I contemplate these symphonic litanies ,
dancing in the mood of the clouds .
Dishevelled eurythmic rhythm ...
Wintered castaway on treachery islands
too feverishly exposed ,
weary of desire and abandonned ...
Love can only be outlined
on unfinished curves ...
I don't remember ,
if your eyes were midnight blue,
wild amber or alluvium ember ...
Perhaps ,solar bush shade ,
whose burn causes one
to take refuge in the woods ...
Like hunted beast .
Was that my way of loving ?
The artist sculpts feeling
only in touch of wandering ...
Faithful marble that always
marry the shape of my silences ...
Is it you,my sweet madness ,
speaking to me in chimeric
distant galaxies ,
that I translate into everyday worlds ?
The end of time ,
is but an echo of seasons of fantasy...
Imaginary ,that a masked harlequin
engraves in letters of blood ,
on a parchment of rediscovered eternity ...
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 3rd, 2025 10:36
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Ellen Marsell
Offline)
Comments3
The musician in sound, poet in words, sculptor in touch, painter in vision and the chef in taste. Love comes in all senses. A lovely write
Eurythmy global holistic art form !
An exquisite text, full of subtle shimmering and philosophical turns. It is an allegory of the creative path: fragile, sacrificial, yet capable of transforming personal wounds into an eternal trace.
Dramaturgy of an unstable identity that unleashes chimeras !
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.