Tuesday, December 1, 2015


Anca mihaela bruma


I wrote a poem on a thorn,
let my words fall
on the other side
of who I used to be,
who I became…

My journey is on your skin
and my hand’s hollow
carries the ashes of
of a once warm embrace.

A cold emptiness where once your head lay.

I built mountains of days
where adagios mused in green
and where silver shone through
the rush of my rhapsody

The virginity of my snow,
the senescence of your smile.

I brought you to Life
on my pages,
arched rainbows into your very being…

I wander endlessly in your maze,
symphonic tears
soaking my skin.
greetings and farewells but falling leaves I shed
at the onslaught of the bitter notes of a winter song…

Yet I have this recurring scent of belief
and a rhythm of my rhymes,
shimmering shades of life,
bleached summers,
the psalms of flowers.

You came to tears when my mournful adagios were composed,
my Reality dissolved into streams,
and the trigonometry of my Heart became sanctified.

No more this unbroken Time
with declarations expired!
One glance once cast a shadow over my eyes,
to blind my everyness,
sing my fading symphonies.

My Time,
Your Space
in Silence…

Anca Mihaela Bruma

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