Sunday, October 2, 2011

In forgetting lies a home

Some crystals disappear in thin air
as another winding circle opens its root 
to be lost forever in the concentric circles of time
as I send flowers of the dead, in honey colored bottles

Aren't this gifts for the 'other' in you? 
the 'other' we will never know, yet muse after 
muse searches for the song which broke 
the silent melancholy of waves and untied 
the threads of a mute sky 

My gifts have forgotten all the colors 
tears of clouds choked the veins of a 
rainbow I dreamt last summer , yet 
traces of mist cling to my ceilings 
revealing brick by brick, a home 
I never had 

In forgetting lies a home, 
where the birds fail to fly
after the last sky, and time
like the featherless storm 
begs shadows of future, a pause 
to sweep me away.