Winter Fantasy
We build cathedrals
When the illusion disappears
When we are cold in bed
Under covers that cover
Little
Or too much
We scratch our guitars
Hoping they'll be tickled
Yet tight cords hardly could
Cover
The mist, we walk to meet
When the illusion within us
Disappears
An October morning
Full of rust and leaves
Full of echoeing space
We write and never send
For to receive takes the illusion
Of sending
Away
When we write for no one to read
But to say what has to be said
Loudly, within the internal silence
Of the cathedrals we build
When love is still there
When love has no place
To find respite
From itself
On misty October mornings
Full of rusty leaves
Whirling on our balcony
Like the dance you like
To dance
Each time
Before you leave…
October 27,2008
poem by Vahe Kazandjian
Added by Poetry Lover
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