Archive for March 19, 2014

Past trees

I remember green meadows and
us, children playing in the grass,
how good it was,
who we have been
when trees were there for climbing.
We never fell.
We never felt further from then
than now we are grown up
and fallen is the tree,
the meadows gone forever.

Evergreen (Droighneach)

2nd attempt:

Evergreen are meadows in my memory,
their mold and draught are far, forgotten
though my head owes room to this sweet scenery,
my sons, now old, but both begotten
out of love, appearing in illusion,
a dearing illustration how I roughly remember
the raw contradiction in days of cruel confusion,
the cold of snow that covered in darkest december
what dared to try and fuel life under solid surfaces
with plants living as wildest wintergreen
the silent time so used for pronounced purposes;
memories are giving enigmatic evergreen.

I am not quite sure I did it right here, but wanted to give it a try

Museum of the mind

As child I stared at canvas, stone and wood
where nothing was revealed, no sound to hear,
the quiet in the room, the solemn mood:
museums seemed a place of mold and fear.

The cracking of the old gallery floors,
although the rooms were empty but of me,
the brutal slamming of unopened doors
and paintings that showed more than I could see.

Perhaps I was too young to grasp the art
but beautiful those memories still feel
of antique buildings, silent days alone.

I keep the memoirs housing in my heart
where no decision stands of what is real
as every art is truth within its own.

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