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Array
(
[sid] => 110750
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Remembers of the life time
[time] => 2005-12-02 02:19:35
[hometext] => This book is registered at Copyright Office, Library of Congress, Washington. (Registration: TXu-793-679 )
[bodytext] => White birds never die. Like flowers, they are eternal. Always, I believe in flowers and white bird Honey, come with me showing to you, only to you, how marvel is the world of flowers and white birds. * * * This autumn is coming like a fancy. I'm cold and I closed the door. It's raining and you never came. Oh, everything is dead in this autumn like a fancy. * * * Alone in the city of stone I live in the district of stone on street of stone in the house of stone. Here, everyone is of stone with heart of stone. Oh, God! I'm so alone in the city of stone. * * * It's autumn and I'm thinking alone in a strange town that nobody knows me. Maybe is better so, wondering on streets, alone, in a strange town. * * * Now, I never look away. The autumn urge me forward. Leaves free from wind run in the woods. Oh, leaves, leaves! ... Take me with you... * * * What a winter! It's so cold! What disappointment! Having nothing in your pocket, only listening the wind in the night and lonely, lonely, thinking somewhere faraway... Dream and be happy! Forget that tomorrow you have another day of living... * * * Now, when roses are blossoming in the sunshine, Honey, let's go in the gardens. Let's go when we are young like roses. Look! the delicacy of pales shows us the way of love... Maybe tomorrow, like them, we make old. Honey, let's love roses now, in the garden of life. * * * The gold of your fingers is a metal like any other metal. The gold does not take off your old age and loneliness. Gold is a metal like any other metal. * * * In the evenings I open the window to see the charm of the night. But I'm too tired. In the mornings I open the window to see the charm of the daybreak. But I'm too tired. Every day only work... And so we make old. * * * Communist view. I cross alone the starve town in the night. Ghosts at windows look the gray of the sky. Cold and nobody is in the streets. My footsteps ring on sidewalk and the shadow lean more and more. The death with her mowing comes in the town. * * * Look how this winter is gone in the fields! Sunday evening and you didn't come. Free under a cold sky our years are gone and all this story seems to be very old. * * * This autumn I'm thinking to the loneliness of the seas, shore solitude, cold sand and my ice - heart. Oh, God, I am feeling like Ovidiu exiled at the Black Sea. * * * The swinging of the reed in the wind it's so hard, as human despair. The loneliness of the reed it's our loneliness. * * * The shivering of your shadow is as the shivering of the moon over seas in the blue nights. I tremble for you, I'm afraid that the Wind will take you with him over the sheen of the seas. * * * When the dawn is coming, I'm thinking to you. In the thick of oak woods still are solitary deer pairs and I'm dreaming to Arcadia. Come my darling, until the last white bird will die! ... * * * The autumn is coming see me crying. I don't know but there are years run away... On paths, in their shivering, leaves are going for ever and I wish in the thick of the woods lonely to die... * * * Every morning the sun rises in peace over the mountains over the seas... The herbs call me from the depth of the woods... On the wild paths I'm looking in my heart. My soul is shivering... Only the sun rises in peace every morning... * * * The autumn with her leaves I hear from the distance. There are the signs of our crossing... I wish nothing to know! ... Birds pierce in the sky and, my wild soul remains with the deer in the woods. * * * Waiting for you the autumn was coming and I am maybe the shadow of a tree or a path near the forest and the lake. * * * When out is raining I am more alone. I dream a house somewhere at the countryside with trees and gardens. Thoughts, thoughts! ... When out is raining I am more alone. * * * I'm plunged in the silence of steppe, in the loneliness of seas. In the night, on wild shores I'm listening the sound of the moon. Thrilling of waves and lights travel by the wind in the horizon. The sadness of poet Ovidiu is reflected in the bottom of the sea. * * * As we aid the flowers let's aid the poet, as we aid white birds let's aid the poet, because the poet is so frail as flowers and white birds. * * * White nights are going on fields, on steppe. Moon is shivering over seas and somewhere in the mountains snow. Lonely, on paths I will go in the depth of the woods in cold crying near the deer with ice soul. * * * It's autumn and maybe tomorrow I will die on streets and nobody take care. It will be there many leaves and it will be raining everywhere. It's autumn and maybe tomorrow. * * * The spring is coming much as a sign remember us that everything is crossing... Yes, the spring is much as a sign. * * * The way of Golgotha is so long as long is our life. We beat nails in our souls one to each other every day. Only those who pray in the churches poor and ill know where is going the way of Golgotha. * * * I wait in quiet my end near the garden of roses. I know that my soul will be a bird flying in the sky and I also know that nothing will come back and happiness is the irreversible trifle of our crossing... I wait in quiet my end near the garden of roses. * * * The autumn of my mind was going as leaves over seas. Will come the coldness, hard and wild and I am the leafless oak in the depth of the winter. * * * In this world we come alone and alone we die, we don't know why and there are no reasons to be sad. * * * With an ice aye I'm looking over woods when winter comes. Leaves, as bloody tears are crying an paths. Lonely, trees are shivering under a cold sky. Somewhere, in the mountains I see a deer pairs with ice hearts, but I know that their warmly love will cross over this cold winter. * * * Sometimes, I close my eyes and I see the sky and the sea, the shore and you, walk lonely... Late remembers from a forget summer. * * * If you are never listening the music of violins in blue nights, a part of your soul is dead. If you never wrote a poem on the moving sand near the sea and the sky, a part of your soul is dead. If you never stop to listen the song of the birds in the garden of life, a part of your soul is death. If you never think at the loneliness of old age, a part of your soul is death. I stay at the window and I'm looking over the world: I see only a few people... * * * Stones are never talking. They are silent in their happiness. Lonely, I wish to be a stone looking the sky and the seas, forget the shore where are my roots. * * * From the window of my room I'm looking to the factories area. The trees seem to have no sense as our life. The autumn is coming to take her leaves... * * * I was looking in the mirror to see my face. What disappointment! There isn't even a shadow... * * * This autumn is coming because I'm more tired and old. In the autumn the flowers have no sense. * * * The autumn is coming alone on streets. Cold and rain. With white hair, older and older, as the leaves will die so will die the poet. It will come the winter hard and wild. But after the death of my body, I still hope, in all my soul, that the spring will come again. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 787 [topic] => 21 [informant] => ioanrusu [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 256 [ratings] => 56 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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