Today I hailed my forgotten muse
locked up in the blue cloud of pain
I miss her, and I know she forgives me
with the red incense and the dim of a candle
she returns and I meet myself
we confess with outrage
what has been dear to forget
boards of the ironies remembered
from that place where there are no metaphors,
or textures, or stories, neither stars or sun
raise flight to the place where
chimeras are transformed from blood, pain and blindness
to oil, vision and forgiveness
deluding logic and sanity
anointing fantasy in poetry and passion
so we began creating again.
3 comments:
Hello!
I know hese ports are old now. But I just had to comment on your writing and its presentation. You are very talented, seriously, I think you can really write and I do hope that you haven't given it up.
this is beautiful. love your art.
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