There was nothing in the night
but a book of wines
and a few thirsty throats
a lot of colors
empty sculptures
and a note reading no more
there was a lot up there
to be held and snatched
a lot that built score
there was no climbing
no sweat or tears
but words, words of words, and a glamorous open door
that night
the book of wines fetched wines
and the grapes could make no pour
that night my words took me there
my actions dropped me to the floor
from where the emptiness of the sculptures echoed
the colors did nothing but spoke
I fell silent... when just again
...
I read the note, reading no more
Shringi
19th april 2009
but a book of wines
and a few thirsty throats
a lot of colors
empty sculptures
and a note reading no more
there was a lot up there
to be held and snatched
a lot that built score
there was no climbing
no sweat or tears
but words, words of words, and a glamorous open door
that night
the book of wines fetched wines
and the grapes could make no pour
that night my words took me there
my actions dropped me to the floor
from where the emptiness of the sculptures echoed
the colors did nothing but spoke
I fell silent... when just again
...
I read the note, reading no more
Shringi
19th april 2009
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