Gregory

 Written by one of our Greek family members

3. On the edge of a dream.

(I don't forget you... )

If the jasmine doesn’t bloom

the agapanthos the hyacinth

the asphodil does not chant

the nightingale or the lamb

lugar and the flora. The

a dream is fading away

it goes away it goes off.

How to talk to them

your dead that know

only their language

of birds of flowers.

You will always look for them

beyond the Rubicon

at each other's edges

of dimension. A reminder

them will take you off, one

note will make you sing,

a smell will make you drunk,

one touch will shake you,

a vision will blow your mind.

Around stones of time

rusty , tossed up

they guard the broken bodies,

unsuspecting guards, with them

pale hard necks and

sharp asphalt where

stoics keep silent while guarding

the agony of eternal oblivion.

But the spirit is not guarded.

It is untouchable untouchable.

Shines blindly to the unreachable

mountain ranges of time. Small

heaven and memory of them

can't stand for dead people. Without

color without note without memory

without a soul, love does not go....

To our dead ones.

Gregory. April 2024