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An Evening In Paris

 

These thoughts are yours, O Paris,

You who still stays so far away;

Every dream as it arises,

Why don’t you laugh and sway?

 

An evening in Paris is my bliss,

And a night when I no longer travel;

To have a last embrace and a kiss,

Before every lie conspires to unravel.

 

Like a poem built up of sweet jingles,

Every part of you stands just perfect;

Every cornice and every single egress,

They are all so exact and circumspect.

 

But, to find meaning in your labyrinths,

Why do I have to descend to the sewers;

Even as my dreams grow colorful,

Why do they have to lose rhythm and substance?

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3 Comments

Posted by on July 14, 2012 in Creative, Poetry, Thoughts

 

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