Thought
It soaks into
the palette of metaphysical colors,
it gains
momentum before it turns into a word.
He tears the
canvases of secrets, though he is silent
the night is
still dark and ready to fly.
Drills tunnels
among the network of neurons,
penetrates
through locked doors,
kills others.
One among millions
sleep washes
away from the eyelids too early, in the morning.
Language cannot
keep up with thought,
when it is born
in the soul or in the head
and no speech
will tame her,
for the word of
spirit will not speak.
Sometimes it
pours on the paper in a trickle,
dripping with
rows of simple sentences.
Through a sieve
in the heart, he catches another thought,
turns into seed
so that crops may grow.
Carbon Monoxide
They melted into
each other in the warmth of the fireplace
like dew drops
on a wonderful meadow.
The blood in the
veins hardens,
soaked up the
taste of wine.
The world got
lost somewhere in unreal fog,
which rises from
fire to oxygen.
Hot bodies like
two lanterns
spark wildly.
I rest my head
on a nearby shoulder
and I hear the
rhythmic throbbing in your soul.
You hypnotize
with your hands in partial shade,
I melt in them.
Envious ashes
from the depths of the hearth
it settles with
pollen on shiny skin.
And we're tired when
the morning comes
we sleep longer.
Avenue Of Stars
in dark puddles
they drown their sorrows
rain-washed
umbrellas
in mini skirts
they started to
feed
city prostitutes
like moths
attracted by the glow of street lamps
the misty alley
serves as a catwalk
a day full of
dreams
dreamed a career
the night
without customers is long
in the symmetry
of life as in the mirror of the eyes
from right to
left
along opposite
same houses and
same colors
two ladies in
one
called
"whore"
white boots so
identical
stained with
shameful mud
monotonic
waiting
when the night
is finally over
a stream of
tears washes away the sin of street maidens
with dyed blonde
hair
red dresses
bottomless
pockets
only in them
handkerchiefs
in the dark blue
of a wonderful night
driven by their
own choice of fate
puddle only
their mirror
blank reflection
they desire in
vain
enchant the
world
EWA KIEC
EWA KIEC: Ewa lives in Tarnów,
Poland. She collaborates with the literary internet group Enchanted with
words, images and melodies and took part in three anthologies of this group:
Where Christmas is praying, Enchanted with the endless summer meadows, and A
palette of autumn colors. The second Anthology about the war in Ukraine is in
the process of being printed, both with her participation, Without Losing Hope'
', and the charity Anthology,, Bringing Help' '. She is a laureate of
the Association of Polish Authors in the One Poem Competition under the slogan
"Iskra" - 2nd place, "Hope" - distinction. Her poems were
published in the literary magazine "Bezkres". She has been officially
posting for a short time, many in online groups, but her content has received a
warm reception and support. She dreams of publishing a few of her own
volumes. She collaborates with the literary groups "Słowa closed
wersach" and "Klub Poetów Niepokornych". She likes contrasting,
expressive comparisons, appreciates the beauty of nature, human emotions and
thoughts on existence.
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