*
a place where
is no expectations
from others to be
some kind of perfect
god under sunshine
to relax where
everything in its
natural beauty lines up
me not too big
nor too small
for some people
doors where
my key wasn’t fitting
may be one
of my crazy dreams
.
.
.
Reverberations, Unpublished, 2013.
*
.
images are but
borrowing from reality
which needs to express
inner pulsions
.
words are but knitting
of thoughts not
yet fully born
savory ephemeral
.
.
stepping stones
are my favorite
to advance
from the inside out
to a nicer view
.
from the outside in
for a more intimate look
as long as
even silence
is a traveling motion
.
.
*
poetry writing
each poems a snap shot
for things that happened
for fleeting feelings
.
for things wished for
.
images of possible impossibilities
for cruelty unclaimed and unjudged
for actions sore as open wounds
for kisses not to vanish away
.
lining up words as on a drying line
shaking them off a little
pinning them carefully one by one
under the gaze of a glaring sun
.
between the whispers of curious readers
.
exposed
I stand
.
.
*
my wilderness at twilight
.
is such
to mellow out
on cords you play
softly dawning as dusk falls
.
ghostly sounds
.
of missing a missing soul
of kisses missed
invite me
to stay
today
.
.
*
a place where
is no expectations
from others to be
some kind of perfect
god under sunshine
to relax where
everything in its
natural beauty lines up
me not too big
nor too small
for some people
doors where
my key wasn’t fitting
may be one
of my crazy dreams
.
.
annamosca 