Did we really know each other ,
we who were so alike ?
You were born in another century
as fleeting as a few moment...
I was Lawrence the magnificent ,
You were king Françoi's daughter .
I was more of a terrorist style
in love with a silent doll...
Do you remember all those flames
we never shared ?
An evil fairy took you away...
Did you give yourself to some thugs
just passing through ?
Or did you take the veil of the immaculate bride ?
I haven't stopped imagining you
in the madness of possession ,
and languor of abandonment ...
I used to run away a lot ,
letting the key drift out to open sea ...
You trembled at the breeze of that other
who stole me your soul behind the lies
of the burning mouths...
Did you ask the rain to make it look
like you weren't crying ?
Solar promises of the first storm...
I am rereading your letters
that the absent-minded messenger
forgot to deliver ...
I learned to decipher what's left unsaid
between the lines...
You won't be here next summer ,
your skin soothed in a bed of seaweed...
Would I have been jealous of all those senses
eager to be consumed by your scents ?
And did that first wrinkle give your smile
the gentle tone of a mother ?
I have chosen to adorn my poetry with biterness...
I hold you close in my tears .
And on the flesh of the clouds,
I engrave this epitaph for a love ,my lost sister
whom I shall find again in the eternal return...
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 28th, 2026 11:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Ellen Marsell, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
beautiful
a kind of two-voice monologue !
much enjoyed
Thank you Norman !
All that is true, even when reduced to the dust of earthly roads, is carefully preserved in the archives of eternity and will one day return, when the wheel of existence completes its majestic turn once more.
There's a spot open under the Buddha's tree !
Passion runs high in fairytales and sexual possession is buried beneath metaphor watering seeds in young children. Well done Lorenz
Are we simply in love with an imaginary version of this ''other '' trapped in their own temporality ?
Narcissus said that the image could be seen in the river
Hmm...You know, these days the rivers are so polluted ...
Yea I heard that the Styx was backing up
Bad for passengers stuck in the Styx !
Sticks or Styx still a long way from home
Lorenz, this feels drenched in longing and memory. The speaker seems haunted not only by a lost love, but by all the possibilities that never came to pass. There’s a beautiful melancholy running through the entire piece. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
What is lost in the world may survive in poetic memory...
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