one of those memories...
Wherever did you go, my lovely lost one,
the butterfly of warm and tender colours,
always draped in veils like to enlarge your wings,
the Queen of hippies in those days
surrounded by a court of brilliant beautiful admirers,
a court that I accepted for my love of you
and loved you, living up to that responsibility.
We all were carried easily away by any love in those days,
so were you, when someone stole my bed with you in it,
but I still loved you after that and wanted to sustain my faith,
but you could never take it seriously
and abjectly refused all further poems
and all efforts for a reconciliation.
Was it better, then, to turn to smoking
and committing yourself only to the queerest bums?
You had a child with your seducer
and became a hard and bitter woman
whom I never more could recognize
as that sweet butterfly of only candid colours.
Once or twice you tried again to turn to me
in efforts to renew the loveliness we had,
but I was working hard and could not sacrifice
what ideals I had left to instability in love.
Instead, since then, I only worked for love.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 451 times
Written on 2006-10-02 at 10:02
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236. A hippie epitaph - just another contribution
Wherever did you go, my lovely lost one,
the butterfly of warm and tender colours,
always draped in veils like to enlarge your wings,
the Queen of hippies in those days
surrounded by a court of brilliant beautiful admirers,
a court that I accepted for my love of you
and loved you, living up to that responsibility.
We all were carried easily away by any love in those days,
so were you, when someone stole my bed with you in it,
but I still loved you after that and wanted to sustain my faith,
but you could never take it seriously
and abjectly refused all further poems
and all efforts for a reconciliation.
Was it better, then, to turn to smoking
and committing yourself only to the queerest bums?
You had a child with your seducer
and became a hard and bitter woman
whom I never more could recognize
as that sweet butterfly of only candid colours.
Once or twice you tried again to turn to me
in efforts to renew the loveliness we had,
but I was working hard and could not sacrifice
what ideals I had left to instability in love.
Instead, since then, I only worked for love.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 451 times
Written on 2006-10-02 at 10:02
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
