My eyes whisper...

My eyes whisper lies,
hoodwinked passing.
Comfortable blue chair, bones share in & out.
Blowing faces flee the trees.

You never knew, how to wear their shoes.
Cruel day of raining steps on the melting window
Reflect my ghost,
like a filming pellicle ACTION...

Leaving station, by the host, home of some famous name
I toward east -Transylvanian seasons.
Like vampires, emigrate to mallards.
Lost direction carry by the cloud on the fast sky.

Little child, little child of mine, his face hides.
Between the comfortable laps,
The child cry tears of wet car fur.
On silver stones.

poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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