Saturday, February 18, 2012

offerings


                 some things that are cannot be told in prose
                 evincing poetry, these acts unrhyme
                 the past, the present, future, and all time,
                 rewriting all that happened, all we chose


                 a son returns a man still aged fifteen
                 his dreams as flowers scattered on a stone
                 remember still the land where they were sown
                 so he his heart unearths, uncrushed, unseen


                 too large, let it be written as it may
                 mine eyes have seen it, truly, through a veil
                 a tear in time admits one lately born
                 to regions where the mind can surely stay
                 awaiting all that left behind must trail
                 until all shall be mended that was torn

— Romanós
     The story behind this poem.

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