![\"luna2\"](\"http:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/02\/luna2-250x250.jpg\")
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4 Metaphors About The Moon<\/p>\n\u00a0
I.
My heart is a well within, where clear waters raise if it rains,
mixed with mud.The moon inside it grows and dwindles continuously.
She breaks for me her bread, I share with her my water.
The more dreams I carry on my back, the more she shines brighter.<\/p>\nII.
Because of too many shadows my road is darker
and I hid in the hollow of an old tree. Tomorrow it will be cut down.
The bloody knife is on the ground, covered with dust.
I feel like a woman who has never had a shadow,
either sunshine or moonlight.<\/p>\nIII.
Right before dawn, when dreams knock loudly at my conscience gate,
a gray orchid grows under my eyelids.
A night butterfly asleep on the white sugar bowl.
What if the moon itself was nothing but the imprint of a dry flower
on the iris of a child’s eye?<\/p>\nIV.
If you dare to pass by the corner of a poet’s house in Venice,
a black gate towards the old attic will open.
There the moon turns on a gramophone record.
Always the same tune, over waters and rice fields, beyond dams and oceans,
beyond white birds migrations in any season.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
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copyright
Cristina Monica Moldoveanu<\/p>\n