Street corner painted in color,
Apollo’s light kisses the clouds.
Each step full of history,
Beginnings, ends, drunk lovers,
Every morning all is born anew,
The streets are alive for you.
Roses are red, like the inside of your eyelids.
Fragments of dreams and memories swimming behind them.
Seeds planted with high hopes, Start to wither in winter.
Then are re-imagined in the spring.
Red, like the first drop of passion spilt. Like struggle, madness, – all but sadness.
Sadness only arrives in hues of the deepest blue, gives birth to perils in your head.
What a simple gift, that roses are red.
spring to life.
A billion times,
in his wondrous eyes.
The city grows still, under springtime sky
Shimmering in dusk’s golden light
Apollo weary, begins to rest
Birds fly the coop
Man does his best