perjantai 30. joulukuuta 2016

The heart is in small pieces

The troubled landscape of swaying
trees blowing in gusts of wind
rootless sea rises above
cliff where my
is the anchor of my life?
Throwing it in my skirts to catch
I would sinking my place in my dreams
for I am as Anno Domini.
Chords of human life
a song of joy and sorrow
raindrops secret sound.
Bouncing hair wind mixing
New words for them when it rains
then, dialect change shape
as the sea hugs the islets.
Sometimes the heart is in small pieces
and quietly whispers time to time to give
come to grief. Perhaps the time part of the scars
improve, I sometimes will out
this world from scratch.
When the water is too black,
and even the mother is no longer here
lamenting why the poor girl
provided with poetry again. I fell
from bad to worse, perhaps it sometimes

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