Hyacinth garden

the gods declare

it is their atmosphere

I knock on heaven's gate and hear some heralds sing

all clichéd voices— prying, and desirous things

by whose kind incitement I gave my reply with goodbyes

and flew to the meadow-daisies, covered by a flight of butterflies

the earth beneath is alive so in this flight of fancy I dip and dive

my words can only strive to bring you sweets from a honey hive

billion upon billions of those beating hearts

some are ending, some just getting a start

I’ve read the brilliant expressions of poets

and seen some fabrications made from letters of scarlet

nothing beats the incomparable feeling of love

that feeling of a love song that hits perfect octave

I will miss all of this but nothing can last

memory is merely at the controls of my wild and weary past

nevertheless, no ending can begin without clôture

as I am flying into the depths of infinite winter and my unknown future

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