|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
ah new poemAh new poem for a new day
looking for a way
to spend the day.
Maybe just to lay
and waste away
like a saladThings keeps going and going and going
Stuff keeps coming and coming and coming
the ragging way of the sun
that shines down upon us
with the warm rays of healing hope
that slides away the darkness
that blankets the grass and trees
that sum the earth is search of food
to eat like a salad
untiled poemWhen the wind blows,
The snow flakes fall,
Turns to white,
and the poppies shiver
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
Keep in Touch!