limeandginger

                                  THe LAke

 A log cabin besides the lake, if that’s what it takes

For the rustic heart to breath the smell of lily and cake

A bloom of the pinkish flake out on the serene lake

Stroking the pulse of the beating track;

 

The idle light beneath the floating willow

The wasted embers off the dying sun

Shallow and shallow wades the wave

Kissing the land on its rugged cheek

 

Thrusting her legs on the soiled clay

Trotting along in a mystic sway

Playing the song for the solemn act

Along she came leaving the bay…

 

The landscape alive with paint and

 A painters’ heart will blush to life…

 

Love

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
   I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
   Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
   I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
   Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
   Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
   I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window.
   Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.

The blinding depths of the ocean leave you

 a hangover with the sky to play over with;

The blues in the dream gives life to the green

in the half dead mind to live with.

The black in the night sticks the soul

knitting the rainbow to shine your thoughts with.

The orange in the sun slips out of the sight

before the sleepy lids dares to fight with;

And I am here lost in the colours

with every blink bearing  with the unborn