Tuesday, March 1, 2016

DIMITRIS P. KRANIOTIS


DIMITRIS
P. KRANIOTIS



ILLUSIONS

Noiseless wrinkles
on our forehead
the frontiers of history,
shed oblique glances
at Homer's verses.
Illusions
full of guilt
redeem
wounded whispers
that became echoes
in lighted caves
of the fools and the innocent.


DENIALS

A roar of cars
seals the dawn
with short-cut answers,
with unyielding denials
that are repeated
explicitly
every sunset.


LIMITS

Fragments of glasses
in the empty room
of the inarticulate whispers,
bleed
our limits,
fill
with sores
the caress of our soul.



DIMITRIS P. KRANIOTIS

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