poetry

Sunburn

Where do I stick flowers now?
The empty faces,
the mundane eyes.

The silhoutte of a dark river
shifting its path across my face,
turn by turn;

Where do I paint red shades of sunset now?
A myth of potpourri,
a lake of setting cold nostrils.

I pray and repeat my rituals,
a soothsayer of my belly now,
a tale forgotten.
A night of crippled stars.

Where do I sit and attach these sunflowers now?

23 thoughts on “Sunburn

  1. This is very fine poetry. Stunning and deeply moving. There’s a sense of melancholy in those lines, but it is concealed in layers of emotions that form this piece of poetry. Got me thinking, this one.
    Beautiful.

    Liked by 1 person

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