Poetry & Art

I carry stories from the earth

I dare the square to flame my game
Outside of any wicked frame.
I see myself a dear self,
A butterfly thing-in-itself.
I carry stories from the earth,
From winter’s sleep and spring’s rebirth.
With colours I’ve enriched my dreams,
Caressing the words between the means.

From green I’ve gathered smiles and laugh,
Yet tears, at times, cut them in half.
But never mind any of these –
They mirror sylvan paradise:
Wide trees of life with strong, firm roots,
With wrinkly leaves, and juicy fruits.
Embraced by sunny golden beams,
And washed by mighty rainy streams.

I am my wrinkled happy skin,
A signature I’ve learnt to win.
A memory I bring to blue,
My depth from what I have been through.
From tenderness I’ve gained sweet brush
Besides the strings from grieving’s touch.
They are the wisdom’s merry page,
The richest velvet of my age.

I’m time reflection on days’ square
Spelling love’s narrative and dare
To fit my imperfections’ chains
Through cheerful, human, kindly lanes.

© Simona Prilogan


Credit image: Pixabay

by simonaprilogan

A radiographer by day, and a storyteller by night.


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