Milena M.
| The night approaches like temptation who saves whom, who listens to whom - hands gently ask. In that silence. In the silence of wings, of wonder and of rebellion. We are merely pilgrims for that moment at the door we wash our hands and barely possibly know - to rather be darkness or light, to be a song or a shadow ... 16. VII. AD. MM., Prague - Loretto |
Hooves clinked on the pavement Angels from Loretta fall asleep in the choir and the hush of wings quiets. Gold glitters kissed by the sun, jewels stroke the crimson - in the throne hall something moved - To the maiden in the temple The child purrs in hands And we quietly kneel on our pilgrimage, wandering pipers who would like to be holy. At her feet, the cloak that covers and to her eyes, hands, now we offer our thanks. 18. VII. AD. MM., Prague - Loretto |
