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‘Christmas presents were piled up, many, enclosed in gold-ornamented boxes, ‘…’ Beauties in the breath of the momentary, worn out almost from the beginning of their life, thoughts of space, defenceless, which on a rough road strive to find that innermost fleeting flash, where eternity hides, unseen from the profane glances of the eye, ‘…’ Keep whatever you like but don’t look upon it as an insignificant absence. Longing is insatiable, but knows nothing, ignorance is its home where souls don’t enter, not because they cannot but because the ignorance is not true. …’
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From the poem ‘The World of a Stone’, by Ioanna Moutsopoulou Cycle I: The Lost Self To read the whole poem, please, click here to order the poetry collection ‘Souls of Nature’ (Photograph by Yiannis Zisis) |