Mythologic Bouquet
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The great nostalgia of times never lived
other than in our collective, fragmented and arranged memory
carved and forged, sometimes it’s glasswork
thawed, other times dug up and thumped on surface,
and yet other times it’s silken gloves, fingers carefully caressing
the essence of text books with pages of crumpled legacies
a cache of refined collective consciousness
carefully drifting, we smell the air,
and then we see
Pouches of rememberance, giants rampaging heavens,
gold on their tongues,wisdom woven from their
unique flowerbeds, bouquets of truth speaken through metaphors
and we all know it, this place where we will meet in fullness
of our own astral equations, “let the light flow through you!”
they say, through these fragrant, narrative riddles,
this cologne of connotation, look with opthalmic visions
inside, there’s a place of truth: the only one we can explore.
Thank you to @dobartim
for making this possible with the Poetry Game Contest!