every morning,
with excruciating strokes of grace,
the light of the distant sun,
orchestrates entire symphonies
against your violent skin,
as if only for me :
the humble audience
for these divine harmonies
that transcend my sense(s).
your multitudes are to me
what flash thunderstorms
are to quiet, summer forests
and in your presence
I have crossed these shadows,
erased their weight,
for you revive
the colours of my dreams
& their vibrancy.
I know not from which place you have come,
nor how long you have traveled to reach me.
I know only that you feel like home
and now, that I have waited so long
(for you)
to arrive.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
every morning,
with excruciating strokes of grace,
the light of the distant sun,
orchestrates entire symphonies
against your violent skin,
as if only for me :
the humble audience
for these divine harmonies
that transcend my sense(s).
your multitudes are to me
what flash thunderstorms
are to quiet, summer forests
and in your presence
I have crossed these shadows,
erased their weight,
for you revive
the colours of my dreams
& their vibrancy.
I know not from which place you have come,
nor how long you have traveled to reach me.
I know only that you feel like home
and now, that I have waited so long
(for you)
to arrive.
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