The Sunday baths and blueish clouds
Do not care for the sleight of hand
Of life’s irrevocable reversals
The rattled gold of her contorted change
The wheel survives the myths
And centuries outlive ignorance
We are little islands like
Geese sprinkled through the stars
We hunt for a pearlest spouse
In the wintry bronze of a lifetime
Hoping to attain a wedding of the soul
That might survive all suffering
Green is the night, pure mysticism
Where the topaz rabbit and emerald cat
Move to wake us from our petty dreams.
This is a masterpiece. I believe you have mastered metaphors. You use them perfectly. What I got from this is that we often get caught up in gratification and finding what we think are adequate solutions to something that only we can fulfill ourselves. Thank you for sharing.
That’s a lovely interpretation I so agree.
Thank you Ana