We can appreciate the energy in art
and feel strong in the transfusion,
but then time keeps dripping,
the curse of the beauty drinker.
Surrogate life,
virtual, safe, mediocre.
Looking in the usual wrong places,
we´ll never get to know
what we want.
I am able to believe anything,
to deceive myself once more.
Do we need a miracle?
In the meantime,
silently,
the mysterious order of truth
moves forward.
Your spare, elegant lines speak well of your ability to create something of value. One can drink poetry as well as beauty. Warm regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The mysterious order of truth moves forward indeed, Maybe you are not merely looking in the wrong places, but you are just not looking! Good food for thought.