Landscapes Of The Mind

Landscapes of the mind, landscapes of nowhere
Pure fabrication of an inner sight
When the minutes sing their silent prayer.
Landscapes of the mind all shadows and light
In the privacy of a spring morning.
You transcend the games of blossoms and leaves;
You play within us your rite immortal...
I see the rivers that are not flowering,
The lakes bring their glare of mirrors
Fatal to my consciousness,
A bird sings and leaves...
Perhaps the contours of an inner song,
Are draped in the fog of a former dream
Swinging from a thread, fragile and oblong
The old memories performed by a mime.

by Maryse Elot

Other poems of MARYSE ELOT (2)

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