Songbirds….!
I’ll kill to hear her live…
Category: Poesia
The world has always been a beautiful ever-changing place to live…and also an encompassing womb of stupidity.
You can ignore it, comment on it or hang your poorly worded conclusions to dry out where all and sundry can see.
I’ve read three pages of rant and I see only thoughts with no colours involved or racism.
Contralto darling you are the truest voice yourself for I understand.
I happen to be a total control freak but I’m also submissive and there are moments where all I want is the man and all his problems, awfully sad as they may be.
I love my way of life and there is no caste, tagging or mistreating from others that could make me change my mind.
We – women or men – are all different, we see life with different eyes but we like to group together over something.
The moment you unite to beat a fellow is the moment your movement is dead.
Don’t mind them, really, their voice will die soon enough but truth remains.
No-one has the right to write a rulebook on how to love or to feel.
Be the way you want to, Lana! 🌹
Ma quanto è incredibile il nuovo album dei Nightwish??
Anche se al primo ascolto ho trovato somiglianze con parecchi motivi…ed un ritorno alla lirica 🥺💘
C’è tutto e di più…anche se un po’ mi manca la mega galattica sinfonia super lunga x album, il secondo CD è molto interessante…Tuommi tu ed i compagni rimanete miti indiscussi eh!
A pale blue theatre stage
A feast of beautiful tragedy, wonderful fantasy
Enter the Woods….
You know.
Every road, raindrop, curve.
My memory cristal clear, glasspane between now and then.
Eidetic, electric.
The engine still running, my queen Chevrolet bee.
Too long a distance between.
Still there depths and pillars, altar of love lost and found.
Rekindled flame, rain never ending turnin to snow.
I remember you, silence and smile and impossible things before dawn.
The clock, the sounds, digits and limbs.
Here in my car, pitch black on a road that lead nowhere until…
The day I met you.
I can’t describe the change…but I can write down the start of the end.
Can I?
The road always goes on, and delivers.
You just have to travel and never stop.
You’ll be tired and you’ll be wishing many things left behind you.
Regret them not.
All you need is within yourself until the engine groans.
Rain pouring.
Silence black in the alley.
Cold set of keys in your hand.
Flat deserted of light.
Quiet steps, breath held.
Bed of giants, rocks of dwarves.
Man sleeps while my mind rambles of ends and means.
Soft breaths, solid warmth.
Cinder and soot.
I can’t write anymore
I can’t read anymore.
Life devoid.
Your hand in mine.
Little flame.
Tiny speck.
Aurora borealis
Sunday afternoon, drinking tea with Grandma Flora (my namesake!)…
A cup older than me, all baroque, made of chalk.
Sky not bluer than our eyes.
Family with three generations of blue eyes.
Home not really home anymore, still and warm.
Afternoon in amber and silence.
Peace and sighs.
Strings of dialogue unimaginable, loving her more than myself.
Nights like tonight are not made.
They are born while I plow through with the Chevrolet Darling.
It’s already a few weeks I’m having this sort of melancholy.
Crawling back from a far away place inside the folds of my brain.
Reading novels written for illiterates no doubt.
Stream of thought greys, ocras and dark greens.
Films for depraved made in lead, mud, chalk and diamonds.
Music resembling the shout of a beast slaughtered, warhowler heartbreaker.
I have been forged in darkness, and never feared it.
When you fear, you push away.
You don’t actually see what you fear.
Truth is: bathing in the sun for too long can bruise you.
Sight and sound black as your eyes.
Dead this night.
For I can’t bear them alive.
Music. Sound. Machine running the miles.
I don’t remember anymore the nightbirds, the endless typing, the epic journeys made with fog fanning out.
I know who I am.
I don’t know who I was, who you thought about in the dead of the night when all was said and done.
I feel just the endless road built and destroyed where my children are resting.
For I had many children, wouldn’t you know.
They were the most fair: dark eyes, dark hair, white teeth gleaming in warning for mother sleeps soundly and needs not to be disturbed.
Still my car is running in the dead of the night.
Past gas services, past lives and deaths, past people and creatures made from a faulty deity who forgets and never really forgives me for my sins.
And thus the guitar sounds like the end of a world born in the dark.
And the clear tenor screeches notes of ireFire.
Been dazed and confused for so long it’s not true…[…]
Don’t know where you’re goin’
Only know just where you’ve been
I always collected satin ribbons.
I don’t know why I do it but now I find a rainbow made of every hue and I understand.
Some ribbons I have tied after I met you.
They are the most beautiful of all.
Still the colours of life.
Still in a dream.
Still there to remind me.
Like unsaid words into seasons and years.
Single days in bliss.
Those I will remember today. 🌻🌼🍁🌾🌄
Il primo sabato del mese di Settembre.
San Grato e la fine dell’estate.
Il frastuono delle voci sul soffitto alto dell’oratorio.
La vita che gira perpetua ancora…
Presto tutto questo rimarrà solo dentro la mia testa…nel silenzio.
Mentre pellicole strane, a tratti cliniche a tratti ironiche mi passano davanti…fra nuvole di fumo e quartieri cinesi.
Saigon e Lussello.
Antipodi e vicini di casa.
Come with me underwater.
And die to despise me no more.
You no more than road under my wings
Yet more than every minute spent
Battling over dreams never dreamed
Men never loved
Thoughts and actions never put to fruition
Theater words made for tragedies and stories of woe
Far away in the decades
I spent learning
we are not mirrors
but black holes made to devour
and waiting to implode
You still more than every length I walked.
“You fell in love with my flowers but not with my roots, so when Autumn arrived you didn’t know what to do.”
– (via c-oquetry)
INTJ dal 2018.
