Manuscript

From corner to corner

a light trembles in my living room.

Does it really knows if the world

is in the back or in front of the mirror?

The truth is burning dry under moonlight

lighting a deserted hearth.

 

It snows with white pages and white cinders,

cherry petals.

The poet covered his dream in thousands of eyelids.

Me... I’m just looking through the eyes

of a bird with shattered wings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I like the poem a lot. Each manuscript we hold in our hands can have life and energy. I wrote three books in my life waiting for the final re-write. They call me to finish.
"The poet covered his dream in thousands of eyelids. '
Thank you for the amazing poem. Made my old mind think this morning.
Coyote

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

Thanks. This poem was inspired to me by a muse, another poet I knew from a site in my country. I liked his ideas and I wrote this poem as a kind of gift.

[....]

very interesting read, i really enjoyed it

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

Many thanks :)

[Marie]

An interesting poem...manuscripts can be cherished and at the same time despised.
Look at your last line. Is there any way to make this concept more clear?

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

Maybe shattered wings, I don't know, I believed that torn has a deeper meaning, like torn cloth but also torn apart, torn down, I will think about it.