Thus, like the skin
of a shorn ewe, the day rises.
It is difficult to skin the self from a stone.
It is difficult to skin memory from a Greek.
But why should we talk about these!
After all,
light too has a skin,
light too can be skinned…
So
light too is guilty of being.
A gust of fresh air
comes with the millennium.
We are beautiful;
why should we not be beautiful?
We eat one another
only from hunger,
from adoration,
from structure,
from love.
It doesn’t matter.
We are what we are,
that is, beautiful.
I carry my ever still blood
in my heart.
I carry my ever salt tear
in my eye.
I carry the angel in the middle of heaven.
(Nichita Stanescu)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Light Poems, Heaven Poems, Beauty Poems, Angels Poems, Self PoemsBased on Keywords: millennium