I swim away with the light of fire and ice.
The inheritance of the meek
is plundered by rapacious men.
Promise is green,
then dried wheat;
like the last swim under a fire and ice sky.
Drying in the reflection,
And dressing in an indistinct future,
cries of longing
drown out memories, love, and melodious
Every creature seeks comfort and a return to happiness,
swim away with the light of
fire and ice.
To quote Wallace Stevens: “…what makes the poet a potent figure… is that he creates the world to which we turn incessantly without knowing it and that he gives to life the supreme fictions without which we are unable to conceive of it.”
Simply put, I write poetry the way it was meant to be written and not tedious journal entries.
My dream is to be the next Ernest Hemingway: writing masterpieces, traveling around Europe, attending bull fights, and spending my evenings in a Parisian bar surrounded by beautiful women.