You call to show me your multiple wounds, the pain caused by others, the immoral and ignoble harm far from your own old firm models. I can’t embrace you, and the world is at war. Words are like rafts that castaways launch with grins and blind wishes. And they hope the journey is short, and they hope there is no storm. But the sea, like life itself, doesn’t wait or listen to complaints or excuses, just breaks without looking twice against the rocks. Barefoot under the bridge pillars I see some tears flowing down, the murmurs of anonymous chants towards another border. Life is not as I used to think and I review the rivers of ink, the fantastic equations engraved in the stone skin. But the mist remains floating wondering where Buckley went like the names of shadows that sail over these waters. There as well go down my stripped naked words, a corps of tree discards that swim by all means in search of iambic pulses where to revive, go inland and close the eyes – with no more script than to forget everything – and let oneself be carried away, open up from the root drowned until ascending to the sun, be the same right then or a new one. Will the wind of your voice reach this shore of surrender once in a lifetime
Tidal waves words that count the times that they touch the shore. First of your poems read. Power in the flow of energy to reach and wrap around my legs as as I stand at the waters edge.
Tidal waves words that count the times that they touch the shore. First of your poems read. Power in the flow of energy to reach and wrap around my legs as as I stand at the waters edge.
Very kind, I hope you enjoy!
Sorry, I missed the answer of musicianship. I'm an amateur singer, song-writer. The reference is to Jeff Buckley.
Thanks for your feedback. I'm really blessed if you like it. I'll go for your poem.