MY SONS

Reads: 205  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The poem, or better said poems, are in harmony with picturesque announcement of emotions and the state of mind in general, but are also put in the darkness, suffering and hopelessness, because they were created in the times from Golgotha of people. When people and shadows took control over minds. When “Flash and Storm” took away many flowers, what she cries for.

Submitted: March 12, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 12, 2007

A A A

A A A


 

 

The old house is devastated. No one knocks on the door anymore

Where are my children? They headed on a lonely ride

There used to be times when garlands of dry gold

Decorated home and yellow moon

 

Like bees that drink on the flower

Angels looked that soft faces

And on breasts that feed them

A tear of happiness distilled

 

The breasts are cold as a rock now

In prayers I fell on the sacred altars

Are the children hungry now

While I compose these verses

 

Everything is havoc. In distance, soft as silk,

Someone spreads the white wings

Like good ferries from far-away

These are my sons, gentle butterflies

 

It's dark. Like in the blackness of my soul

When her heart could break

There's a cold wind blowing in her

To my petrified heart

 

Oh, how this bitterness that pours

These words that sorrow writes

I sadly close my eyes

When I can't give you nothing more than a poem


© Copyright 2018 Maria Deyana. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments