I let go of the beard
and eyelids of God.
It will rain, the eyes of the earth
will go blind, white breathless turmoil.
A boy with books and grand prophesies,
composing the sadness of the final silence.
An epoch to remember what I wanted.
The river of visions carries skin and mirror,
a noise of nowhere and nobody’s scent.
What beastly ache to be a fleeting universe
with no country except the island of thought.
I have no beard and the nausea of mountains;
I have in my mouth the salty meat of the soul.
2 thoughts on “mystic flowers”
a nice piece of poetry
A nice piece to read i wish i could be the eyelids of an eye which never closes and watches me continuously in SNOW, hail, Strom, Blizzard and beautiful RAINBOWS which never sets down or cast shadows on my sweet soul ”””””’