White

I’m turning in a slow motion

a photographic film losing its color.

From my house bricks

it rains with memories,

spread like sea salt on the shore.

 

Colors gather between clouds

floating over trees,

white cherry flowers sway,

their shadow on grandma’s window.

 

The roof is covered with old snow

and lost letters ashes,

walls are whitewashed

with pale butterfly wings.

 

I’m shaking in silence my white hair,

it falls in the dust without footprints,

my arms, my head, my smile drop down,

washed away in the moonlight.

 

The last white morning stars

brought back into my life

yesterday’s angels.

Reviews

[Lilly Negoi]

i think that last stanza is an excellent conclusion to this poem, but the one that i liked the most was the third one:

"The roof is covered with old snow
and lost letters ashes,
walls are whitewashed
with pale butterfly wings."

very well done!

[The Watcher]

This is a really sweet and beautiful poem. I like the imagery used and how it flows together so nicely. It's very well written. Kudos to you!

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

Thanks a lot, usually I write sad and hurtful poems, sometimes I write about childhood or memories like this.