Depth of Thoughts


Height of Words

WELCOME to my pen, to the thoughts that lead it; to the soul that leaks through it...and welcome to my hands that aid and abet in delivering the death, the tragedy and sorrow romanticized is my poetry. Welcome.





In my dream, we couldn’t speak

But my eyes, this, could recount:


You pushed towards me a pile

Of wood and beams in disarray:

Your house, in a mound of rubble

Your eyes, in ruins post collapse.


Though no doorframe stood upright,

You nailed a mourning black drape
To hang above your door,

Too soon deeming your fate doomed.


My fair fingers begged to differ

And searched through your fallen pieces

As though skimming over your soft hand

To hold and lift you all back up.


Befriending the ruins in your eyes,

Your threshold soon was found

Now in place, to welcome you

And beam by beam, your walls rebuilt.


Now your new house faced the sun

For a narrow path now led you there

And though the mere size of a birdhouse

It housed your kind, enormous soul.



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© 2021 Daniela Oana