Just today, I dreamed of a world under the moon,
A place here where the sun wouldn't arrive so soon
where the shadows fade into invisible ghosts,
Where the midnight has replaced the bright sunlit noon.Between lush lively orchards with lavender trees,
Among which fly pearlescent obsidian bees,
It'd be impossible to remain sad
When I would feel like I'm living beneath the seas.
In a fantastic, silvery moonlit, sunless land,
No one'd ever reach out to lend a helping hand,
As there would be no struggle to ever be seen...
Without sun, one can't even recognize a friend.
Yesterday, I dreamed of a world under the moon,
But what once sounded clear now resembles a rune
What will wash out on the shore
After the waves go back,
What treasures out of the sea's core
Will push me out of track
On this pretty sunny day?
Tidal waves travel to deep ocean,
Leaving behind piles of wet sand.
Noticing this regular motion,
Seekers set out on the land
And search for lost things.
Seashells, lost earrings and stones
Shards of green bottle glass
And dead branches that look like bones,
Something to take, yet nothing on to pass,
Baubles and useless stuff.
But even baubles break and cut
It is hungry
It's mouth is open and ravenous
Calling for me
A convulsing body of water
Alive
Coarse sand whips my bare skin
The wind burns like fire
But the rain beats at me
Thrashes at my door
As the cragged rocks serenely survey
I glimpse the sky
A breath from heaven
Which is gone
Before I can gasp
It is taken
By a water colour painting
In the city, Silvery snakes slither through holes in the ground
Sly and silent
Shrieks emit from underneath their belly
And tiny insects crawl from their sterile insides
They scuttle to and fro under the shadows
Of the long-necked monsters who claw at the sky
As the smog and the fumes
Curl up to the clouds like a giant, toxic octapus
Shiny metal snails
Creep slowly along the black track
That is dotted with white streaks
And leave behind them a trail of slippery slime
Upon the sea
Monstrous iron whales sail
Upon the rocking waves
Bloated and buckled
your eyes are palms that so comfortably
can mold my corpse into something,someone
sometime,an unhollow breath to follow your(allure
sifting and starlit,evergreen everglades
the eddies of your voice lingered,rosy dews
heavenly,this misanthrope,i,no longer buried;
the colors of our skin match in the dark,where kisses
know naught but the clandestine of )us
yes,mistakable and heartedly,your arms
collapse into the form of me
relieving the senses of wind and sun
o,how Mother cannot understand what this
means:
not grass nor sea
not sky nor tree
,but the remembrance of us,the nostalgia of the last second
Felt around darkness on
the rusty ferry towards Kirkwall.
Night was chasing me
and soon everything turned
to the darkest shade.
The swollen sea was
a ferocious monster,
ready to swallow every sign
of happiness and cover it
under a white foam coat.
From the gate lightly torched,
I saw an unknown Isle,
silent and dark but awake
by the lonely lighthouse.
I was sat by the bench,
feeling sick at the point
We waited the bus,
waited to jump into
the wilderness of the Isle.
Steep cliffs dive in
the foamy sea,
and so the shrubs.
We swayed on the crooked road,
left to the seaside,
right to the rocky hills.
I felt the sparkling air of the south,
where the elements combine
in a marvellous painting.
Twitchers are looking for
unknown discoveries,
the wind cuts their noise
leaving just a thin muffed voice.
Rising on the west coast,
the Seafolk Village
is lying on the shore.
All the windows face the Sun,
sailors are leading their men
through the cold ocean waves,
waiting the lighthouse,
to come home to the
restless wives.
A long distance memory that
crashes miles away.
Folks are welcome
to cheer up the town hall,
otherwise in the deepest shade of grey,
not even the Moon can help.
White sand is all over my shoes
Like a fast dream
in a stormy night,
we found a wee beach
just enclosed between houses.
I got hit by its beauty,
those warm shelters
are not afraid to crumble,
carried away by the waves.
The time didn't hurt them though.
Instead, limpets are living there,
holding strong against the mossy walls.
The water is vivid
taking me back to summer memories,
but now it's tinted with melancholy,
giving deep aquamarine hints.
Swollen tears of the sea,
Up, the train
down, the sea
loving the salty sound
the salty tears
on your face
Walking down at the beach
with our noses up.
The bridge is still looking
the seagull floating
through the damp clouds
It's still looking
from the past
to the future
Crossed like wrong words
on an old paper
that you wrote as love letters.
Shhh...
You are in the potting shed,
where the eldest are chilling
and the children seem so far.
A quiet place to enjoy,
in front of a cup of tea,
or a strawberry tart.
It's the shelter in which
I escape from the noise,
organising tables, looking at the view.
Every touch is a memory of someone who enjoyed the moment.
I can see the sea right after the green hills,
a blend of peace and fresh air.
What a nice ending of the day
looking at the august sun disappearing
between the trees.
Plastic effigies roam the sea,
no starboard or otherwise,
sandwhich bags pass as permits,
simple obligations from where they drearily drink tea.
Day by day, shaped like a gyre,
montonous labyrinthine symposiums,
word by word, waits for knotted guts to spill forth,
oh wait, pull over, another flat tire.
They say many things, those circling sheep,
concepts blend into the next,
the world seems clouded and hazy,
when do we truly drift off to sleep.
Though in not so many words one could say encouragingly,
from dreams comes responsibility.