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Th3Mirr0r

Romania

"The Quotes Garden" – Part I - Beginning

The Quotes Garden
Part I – Beginning



Here it is!..
My famous place,
From all the gardens I created, along time...


There’re plates, behind each alley I would miss..
In case my dreams, one day, before I die,
Will tear apart...
Only shadows, left behind, instead my friends -
Who twisted senses of my heart,
In moments of despair ...


There must be thorns of roses,
Embracing death – and clear sun,
And life, with petals, in the faded falling;
They came along
with piece of graved stone, behind my tomb,
And Heaven standing like a fortress,
- only witness to my once upon a time, a lair..



I rather die alike an artist! -
Surrounded by thee ART, which makes me feel alive
And
every breath I take, is sweeping verses,
with death from life – which dwells fresh air,

Which fills my lungs with my despair
And
each morning – is a mourning full of joy...


I open the eyes of my restless soul,
But then, alike a shadow, I vanish, in the mist -
Forgotten by the human heart, within the second I should die,
Along with every sufferance – divine feast!..
I’ve taken a joy away, in the darken past,
And
I saw my death, in the chair...


I’m waiting clouds to come,
more faster than in rhymes, my twisted verses,
Like Heaven’s waterfall,
- from where it rises in my dreams,
My golden harp, under rainbow -
Reminding me.. once more...
That ..
Was upon a time...
An artist…



Should I now talk in riddles,
So I may hide my desire of freedom,
Freedom of a locked soul,
Inside a cruel world? !
Or, must be there my sins,
Alike some darken secrets,
Drying each part of me,
Until one day..
I am no more? !


Or better..talk in quotes,
Repeating senses of the many artists
Which found a refuge inside art?
But there’s no place to hide..
Those green.. emotions..
And neither enough words
As for defining, truly,
What is ART!..



I ask myself sometimes
If ART is pain into advanced scenes of battle
- of oneself -
Or if it’s merely like a longing for a Heaven -
Which for example, I haven’t found It in myself;


Or maybe just like other artists,
As much desire have for death,
As even Death, doesn’t need me anymore,
Alike the muses, think that charming me
With lovely whispers,
Will lead me soon to touch
With thirsty lips,
Their divine breasts...




But nor declared love, nor written words of love in vain
Shall not be mentioned, along my paths to glory, over death,
But only truth, would be alike my oath, - in verse, my breathe
To be.. alike I am... to never change... to be the same...

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