It's falling rain tears over Brussels.
What becomes of eternal promesses ?
Some bitter mood melting onto
the pavement ...
tell me about your life in Montreal ?
I am still in love with you ,
even in someone else's arms ...
A night flight awaits me
that I would not take ...
I'm just a night thief .
Long -distance tides talk to me
about that summer
as if it were a sleeping dream ...
It slowly snowing in Montreal .
I question your reflection
in this mirror ...
Looking for words along
Sainte Catherine in a polar void .
I just remember how weather
was nice after love .
Here and now,everything so cold...
Tell me about your life in Brussels...
I feel like a broken string of pearls
scattering in a blizzard
of tormented feelings ...
Venenous flytrap in a night flight...
Does it always rain in brussels ?
I'm in this little bar ,surrounded
by gloomy faces .
I no longer recognize
who is the victim or the tormentor...
Near me there is a girl
whom I will never meet .
Beauty of a renaissance painting
but I do't see your mystery
in her eyes ...
Sh'es just a stranger in a night flight .
It's snowing in Montreal ,so slowly ...
I have this taste of your skin
around my neck .
This old wool touching me
like a ritual ...
All along Sainte Catherine,
I walk like object of the fog .
Searching in the here after snow
for the dissociated echo
of our voices .
You who flew away like a night thief...
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 3rd, 2026 11:44
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson)
Offline)
Comments3
loved it, great write and a fave
Thank you Norman !
Thoroughly deserved
This reads like a preface to a movie narrated by a noir voice. The question remains who is in someone else's arms you or her. A lovely write of longing and missing, reflecting and wishing. Nicely done Lorenz
You have subtly pointed out the ambiguity of the text !
Subtle is not my nature and thereby my lack of popularity.
You seem to be rather popular on this site !
Anomalies happen in nature
A melancholic, restrained, almost transparent poem in its tone. It is intimate and nocturnal. There is no hope in the usual sense, but there is fidelity. No promise of the future, but a deep respect for what was and what remains inside. Very well written!
A cloud dropped three snowflakes and I took a lost night flight ...
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