You’re born into a memory.
Palace walls, draped in familiarities.
Nostalgic dreams, projecting from screens,
All in synchronicity.
Mind plays.
You’re born into an underground room.
Full of colours, synthetics, fibres of jute.
Repeating lengths of pattern clashing,
against others endlessly.
Mind pulls:
at the darkness of a fold.
Strawberry fields found then sold,
Through the lens of a kaleidoscope -
Just so you can know the taste, shape and texture of each one.
My house is a cramped two bedroom apartment,
Lacking art on the walls and a soul of it's own;
My soul lives in a palace and waits for me to open the door.
About the Creator
Kali Mailhot
hobby poet always looking for new things to write about.
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More stories from Kali Mailhot and writers in Poets and other communities.
Hall of mirrors
Things used to matter, before all the noise. And at that time when things still had meaning, there had been dreaming too, when dreams still mattered. And the brightest dream from those times was full of mountains and seas and smiles and the types of passion that absorbs you the way a dog is absorbed by witnessing something for the first time: with absolute presence, and awe.
By Giulia Viti2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (6)
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Wow!! This is gorgeous and has a certain sophistication to it that I LOVE. I saw everything happening before me with your truly beautiful imagery - and that last line....WOW! Really loved it. 😍 I've subscribed :)
This was amazing! Brilliant use of imageries!
This was really very good. Excellent poetic flow.
Some great images enmeshed with lovely feelings
I love not only the imagery, but the inclusion of the other senses. "Strawberry fields found then sold," killer line!
This is lovely!