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MUSEUM OF STONE
by Sorana Lucia Salomeia The white moon caresses your beloved window And sends blue shadows To lay their faint kisses on the cold glass. A tear running down my cheek – Your eyes reflecting in its mirror… Illusion of the moon-beams that, In this secret hour, Send their verses once again Towards our world… In the dead, silent garden My footsteps make no sound – And there is no voice to make an echo, No breathing breeze to give us life. The moon keeps watching – I wonder what it really sees; How does it perceive our Existence or Non-existence Here, on earth? Your body falls like lead Against the bench of stone. My shadow leaning against the cold wall Feels nothing more … And who would have ever dreamed That warmth would ever freeze so quickly, That this life would now be motionless and damp, That hopes that once were so alive in us, Would now be just broken arrows… Copyrighted © Sorana Salomeia, Iasi, Romania
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