After all these collisions
with the abrupt license to write
these dreamy plagiarisms
as if words belonged to a mouth
the month of poetry became
a lifetime of habit, a sport
of inarticulate genius
of hope strewn in museums
blue transparent halls of journals
I still mutter quietly
spells for sweet memories
grasping at disappearing truths
i contemplate language, the soul
of symbols, the spirit behind a tongue
the last word i said
The word is Yes, yes to
white fragile voices
that linger for a while
these lyrics that spin
until loving is not enough
it must be written down
as if for eternity
the profound nature of saying
I will live forever trapped
on a page for you or nobody to read
smuggling lanterns as ancient as the seas
across the myths I once believed
were real, the news of my country
the land of my being
and…
View original post 23 more words
Viv Drewa - The Owl Lady 