Tuesday, 19 March 2013

(re)drawing lines

for too long lost
in the middle of the road.
but then bones revived from idleness.
so easy
to recall the way roses used to smell,
the way you would open the door to all your little hells
and, squinting to see through the shadows,
the way it mostly all happened without a plan,
but sometimes
you create the arrows that point the way.
push the corners.
fight to try to get it right.
close your eyes and study your reflection.
lay your pieces on the floor
and with tender hands start.
we'll never be so old and so young.
so potentially perfect.
the dirt always cracks and opens
for the flowers in spring.
there is always room.
always a chance.
you hold on,
shape the day with your frozen hands.
paint your ever changing expressions to the world
on the canvas of your body.
blood rises to the surface of your bitten lip
and the light in the sky grows.
my stars,
how our wings will quiver.




so many rough things

but just a fairy flower
from the unknown future
always shine in the destiny
of your inner feelings

because the ancient god
of your past
is a whole universe of living spring dreams

Yannis Politopoulos

ellom said...

how our wings will quiver . . .

The Sequined World said...

"the way you would open the door to all your little hells" oh my goodness this is perfectly lovely, your writing is moving, also I have nominated you for the Versatile blogger award x

Stephanie said...

this is a little piece of me: i want to be more than potentially perfect, i want my wings to fly not just to quiver. but this, this is beautiful.

Wingfall at dusk said...


"We'll never be so old and so young. so potentially perfect." - that is truly magnificent.

Your words drip with sensuality and such a passionate ache for life.

I love it x

Holly-Bella Cassell said...

your blog is just beautiful xoxo


Jane O Sullivan said...

just beautiful
thank you