Go in good faith
down that charred road
where holy mist
cusps day in feathered glove
the porcelain eyes of hills pay obedience to mauve cloud
trees taller than sound break through
smudges of dream wave in memoriam, shuttering day
and O
je ne sais pas aimer sans toi. Je ne sais pas comment me passer de toi.
We speak in furled tongues our inner most thoughts
leaving confessionals on mossy rocks and the lay of light rain
full with sleep, the direction lost in tug of war with blackening ice
they slip beneath against hush of snow
covering our tracks with blanched fingers of ice.
We weep with everything but tears.
Wow. This is an amazing poem. I really love it. I can’t explain it, but it creates an atmosphere that I can’t describe but that goes deep into me. Brilkiant.
Amazing. Heartbreaking. I love this. ❤
Beautiful! Absolutely stunning! 😊💕
Truly gorgeous words Candice….
“I don’t know how to love without you. I don’t know how to do without you.”
Ah, yes, there’s the key. I had to ask Google to translate even though not knowing French I sensed grief in that line of one set adrift by loss, set adrift in a kaleidoscopic landscape beautiful and strange, and shifting underfoot.
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Like a stranger in a strange land
And what was it playing on the radio as I read? Symphonie Fantastique !
A magically liminal poem for the inevitable season… ♡
This is a beautiful and moving poem, thank you for sharing.
So powerful – the deepest tears
Dear Ingrid, thank you so much!
You remind me of how much I like the word ‘liminal’ thank you my talented girl. xxx
No way!
Thank you so much for the re-blog dearest Bob
I like how you sensed it even before hand – that’s good!
Thank you so much my friend! So much
Dear Carol Anne thank you so much my friend!
Thank you so much dearest Brother
Thank you so much dearest – I really appreciate you for reading this and thinking so!
😊😁😏🌻🐧📖
The credit for that belongs more to your writing than my brilliance. 🙂
So Welcome!
Yep, I’ve been trying to think of some other music as fitting without success — maybe the Pathétique Symphony of Tchaikovsky? I decided it could only be either French or Russian to get the right emotional tone. The Germans and Italians wouldn’t do.
Beautiful poem
Thank you so very much I really appreciate you
You’re welcome 💜💙