If the poet had the beautifully decorated cloths of heaven made with golden, silver and dark light he would spread them under his beloved’s path. But he is poor and can’t give her beautiful clothes. He can give her only his dreams. Therefore he has spread his dreams on her way. And he requests her to walk softly because his dreams may be broken easily. The poet wishes he had the cloths of heaven.
Who Knows?, by J. W. Cassandra. The poem I wrote 2 days ago and haven’t put into any of my volumes yet. Hungarian version I wrote only yesterday. Please, take it on any language as a motivation… I hope, I can give through the essence.
Who Knows?, by J. W. Cassandra. The poem I wrote 2 days ago and haven’t put into any of my volumes yet. Hungarian version I wrote only yesterday. Please, take it on any language as a motivation… I hope, I can give through the essence.
The graceful ocean It’s waves of satin Shimmer to the light Woven by the sovereign. Its fabric in turmoil Racing to kiss Skin of white sand Then returns to such bliss. Its shades…
The graceful ocean It’s waves of satin Shimmer to the light Woven by the sovereign. Its fabric in turmoil Racing to kiss Skin of white sand Then returns to such bliss. Its shades…
The graceful ocean It’s waves of satin Shimmer to the light Woven by the sovereign. Its fabric in turmoil Racing to kiss Skin of white sand Then returns to such bliss. Its shades…
I wrote this 14 years ago as something so horrific had happened in my life. Still, to this day, I have not recovered from. See I won’t be able to start healing from that yet, I’ve got another 5 years to go.
Rootless Life, by J. W. Cassandra. The poem I wrote yesterday morning and haven’t put into any of my volumes. yet. The versions alter a bit from each other in Hungarian and in English. The poem itself refers to or echoes somewhat my old short story, titled “Rootlessly”. It was written in my 16-year-old age and I gained with it an invitation to the 1st conference and meeting of student-poets and that of writers, held country-wide. There had been there 50 students at all of them. And I’m in a deep sorry for loosing the short story, so I decided to share this “echo”- poem…
Rootless Life, by J. W. Cassandra. The poem I wrote yesterday morning and haven’t put into any of my volumes. yet. The versions alter a bit from each other in Hungarian and in English. The poem itself refers to or echoes somewhat my old short story, titled “Rootlessly”. It was written in my 16-year-old age and I gained with it an invitation to the 1st conference and meeting of student-poets and that of writers, held country-wide. There had been there 50 students at all of them. And I’m in a deep sorry for loosing the short story, so I decided to share this “echo”- poem…
This poem is a perfect word of wisdom for all the people. This tells you the importance of today. The fact that you are able to breathe, it gives you the list of possibilities, the buffet of the courses of action from which you can wisely choose the best one.
The impulse to hold a pen The feel of fibers As I skim my fingers On pages where Moist ink are deeply engraved To see the words slowly awaken To form phrases that spread Through…
In this poem, the speaker talks about his love that was long lost. Lost, because it was so strong that everyone at the ‘kingdom by the sea’ envied it. The speaker believes that this, even though they were just little kids, love between him and his Annabel Lee was stronger and deeper than the ones between the people older and wiser than them. That despite the physical distance no one can part their souls from each other. Their love was real love and no teenage crush.
