There is a field, <br />a land stained with memories, <br />scattered like stardust, <br />the tears of the night sky, <br />as they reflect their eternal mysteries <br />on Wivenhoe’s vein of the earth. <br /> <br />There is a river too, <br />the mirror of that sky, <br />peaceful and content <br />like an infant’s face, <br />sleeping her innocence <br />in the happiness of her mother. <br /> <br />And there is a village <br />dressed in colour and antiquity <br />like the tunes of an old piano <br />in a duet with the lazy expressions <br />of the afternoon sunbeams <br />that flirt with the clouds’ sadness. <br /> <br />And in this feast of sighs <br />that shape the souls of the butterflies, <br />a spirit is wandering in beauty: <br /> <br />Fragile, yet eternal, <br />like the field that is caressing her feet. <br /> <br />Strong, yet so calm, <br />like the river that is painting her eyes, <br /> <br />Warm, yet so distant, <br />like the village that is singing to her smile. <br /> <br />In the essence of the wine... <br />In the surprise of the evening rain... <br />In the lies of the flowers... <br />In the summer of my life...<br /><br />Niko Tiliopoulos<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-content-analysis-of-dreams/
