Old Records We Live By

Every record has its own time in the timeline of yours

Says the queen who’s whispering at the princess’ ears

Whilst the wind gently blows these silly minds of ours

And the heart rejuvenates a hundred thousand years.

Those words you read are from old Johnny Blake

Written down with half of sweat and half of tears

And a glass of pure water from a special inner lake

Which will endure even if the whole world disappears.

I wrote poetry because I am alive?

Or I am alive because I master the words?

This I guess I will never get it truly right

At least in this earthly kind of world

Maybe in the next upcoming life

When I will finally understand the flower

And the seed from which it has grown up.

gi.