The Quotes Garden - Th3Mirr0r
Poezie adăugată de: th3mirr0r

    duminică, 24 mai 2015

The Quotes Garden


Here it is!..
My famous place,
From all the gardens I created, along time...

There’re plates, behind each alley I would miss..
In case my dreams, one day, before I die,
Will tear apart...
Only shadows, left behind, instead my friends -
Who twisted senses of my heart,
In moments of despair ...

There must be thorns of roses,
Embracing death – and clear sun,
And life, with petals, in the faded falling;
They came along
with piece of graved stone, behind my tomb,
And Heaven standing like a fortress,
- only witness to my once upon a time, a lair..

I rather die alike an artist! -
Surrounded by thee ART, which makes me feel alive
every breath I take, is sweeping verses,
with death from life – which dwells fresh air,

Which fills my lungs with my despair
each morning – is a mourning full of joy...

I open the eyes of my restless soul,
But then, alike a shadow,
I vanish, in the mist -
Forgotten by the human heart, within the second I should die,
Along with every sufferance – divine feast!..

I’ve taken a joy away, in the darken past,
I saw my death, in the chair...

I’m waiting clouds to come,
more faster than in rhymes, my twisted verses,
Like Heaven’s waterfall,
- from where it rises in my dreams,
My golden harp, under rainbow -
Reminding me.. once more...
That ..
Was upon a time...
An artist…

Should I now talk in riddles,
So I may hide my desire of freedom,
Freedom of a locked soul,
Inside a cruel world? !
Or, must be there my sins,
Alike some darken secrets,
Drying each part of me,
Until one day..
I am no more? !

Or in quotes,
Repeating senses of the many artists
Which found a refuge inside art?
But there’s no place to hide..
Those green.. emotions..
And neither enough words
As for defining, truly,
What is ART!..

I ask myself sometimes
If ART is pain into advanced scenes of battle
- of oneself -
Or if it’s merely like a longing for a Heaven -
Which for example, I haven’t found It in myself;

Or maybe just like other artists,
As much desire have for death,
As even Death, doesn’t need me anymore,
Alike the muses, think that charming me
With lovely whispers,
Will lead me soon to touch
With thirsty lips,
Their divine breasts...

But nor declared love, nor written words of love in vain
Shall not be mentioned, along my paths to glory, over death,
But only truth, would be alike my oath, - in verse, my breathe
To be.. alike I am... to never change... to be the same...

Was upon a time..

When the sun embraced the moon
In the shadows, over lights,
When the calling of the loon,
Cried again, in silent nights,
There was written on a rune
How a poet stays and writes
All the things which often strewn
Waves of life, over the heights –

And our story, thus begins
With a poet and his muse,
As my verses quickly spins
Sweeping words, inside a cruse –
And the riddles, like some pins,
In the waves of life, to choose
Fairy dust, in wind and fins...

Starry sky

Oh, silent night, with endless sky,
In which I dwell my soul, again,
Across the light, when shadows cry,
Into an empty space, like grain -
And soon, under the moon, they die,
As if they try my soul, to drain
In silent fields, where soon they fly,
With me, my muse and rain!..

Oh, starry sky, you tell me why
Thoughts are spraining in my brain!..
In the silent moon, they dry -
And my heart, they quickly slain
When I ask if she should cry
Near me – and once again,
I die, with her, under the endless sky!...

The silence of the crickets

My shadow falls, along the grass,
Where lovely crickets mourn,
Under the moon, with veil of brass
And clear dreams, from silence, born.
It seems I hear : “This too shall pass” -
O, alas! And yet, they sworn
That will protect my soul of glass,
But they just broke it, with their horn!..

They’re dropping down the bass
As if they hear my silent cry
That kills the moon, under the grass,
And yet – alas! They ask me:” why?!”
A cricket was my sweetest lass!..
When mourns with me, I think I try
To die with it - but silent, says:
“This too shall pass”

Pale moon

I share my thoughts, with my beloved moon,
Alike a breath of wind, with silver leaves,
Who twists thy dreams, so soon...
And drops of sorrow, beneath the sleeves
Still trembling, in the night, amidst the tune
Who fills my grief, with silent heaves,
Embracing howls of trees, into the moon
Along with copper statues, over dusty sheaves...

O, my beloved, pale moon!..
I lay my soul, upon your silver grave
In which I find my peace, so soon...
And yet – I’ll be the only slave
Of silent wind, when cries of loon
Will tell you I was brave -
And thus along my path, their tune,
Amidst the faded dreams I could not save!..


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