{Of all lies, art is the least untrue - Flaubert}

Monday, November 07, 2005


A mirror shone several rays,
The beautiful, ugly and the dead.
Reflections of life onto its past,
Silent though, nothing left unsaid.

Sweet smell of far off fields,
Wet nostalgia of yesterdays.
Minced with sickening warmth,
Affectionately flaming all todays.

Flaring love for forgotten yore,
Longing for a far winter sun.
Dangers of lighting new fires,
And fears of having all undone.

Flawless arms around my neck,
Told to stay by longer and rest.
Dying dreams of late mornings pleaded,
For the lost quest to rest in the nest.

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