MY HEAD IS SPINNING

Poem no. 19, 31st January 2025

My head is spinning,

My thoughts sway towards an unfinished past,

And at my door, a stammering voice calls,

Under the weight of a mistletoe crown—

An ancient threshold of my bond to the promised land.

Beneath the silent roof of the ancients,

Two sermons play their game:

One whispers its voice, even beneath my roof,

The other guides cross-less, even without you,

And from this, a choir of angels rises,

Each note, a stroke of softness beneath my eyes,

Making the snowflakes dance with reality,

Expanding my soul into golden fragments,

Pieces of doubt and silence,

Beneath the vault of Cassiopeia.

My head is spinning

As a cosmic design shifts into us,

And from here, a choir of angels rises,

Tolling the bell of renewal,

Sublimating me, restoring me,

Turning my sorrow into fortune.

« My Head is Spinning »

D'AUTRES POÈMES