Archive for August, 2011

Like bluer blossoms in titillating winter night.
I like my father will arise again and grow.
In demise, in death and in desolate dream dome
I will but arise again and stand all applause.

I see when all past married to coming years
There is haystack of Monet and lilies painted,
There is a canvas longing for so long now.
The crowd is like pigments thrown on palette,
That makes nature its art and dreams
Like floating clouds that drizzle in thoughts.

Those temples shall remain for God has seen
Those moments that we spent in prayers
For each other, for a feeling so eternal
And memories shall now beat again
Through days that come in this life of tears.
I like my father will arise and grow
Into an oak on the last mountain frieze.
No more waiting in Sun and among snow,
Thoughts too are dead, the valleys grow.

Let us now forget the walls that we hate,
And like salmons grow again in our dreams.
I shall not write again, nor shall await
For anguishes to stand hearing pastoral hymns.
The swans now flatter incandescence,
And I will reach the bell before my temple
Sees the morning, I will arise and grow.


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