Modern Poems · Modern Spirit


I'd love my world be a freshly painted fresco,
And I be blessed with the genius of Michelangelo,
where I see a fair angel in the marble
and carve relentlessly till I set him free;
where coloured shapes and misplaced hallows of
aged, ineffectual lives melt into white flowers
blowing carelessly in the wind, 
And the endless tapestry of the past where women drowned, 
now leading to the golden halls of my life,
inviting every fiber of the lost faith,
of lost passion to a cherry blossom's breath.  

Dearest, when you hear roaring strings tapping my lyre,
know that in my delight, the chains of my soul is free,
The surface of my fresh fresco is emerging,
The edge of my past is shaken and scattered.  
As the fluent, blurring figures of men and women pass alongside hallways, 
I am awakening from the ancient curse which pierced
and penetrated my heart before Eros's arrows could be of any service. 

Along cobblestone walkways, active figures of little children, 
each has a secret that stirs in their limbs as they move
Out of the distance, nearer, demanding a safe place
where some innocence would be revived and restored.
Here in the subtle, rounded flesh  
Beats within the intoxicating ecstasy!  
In the sudden lifting my eyes,
The fascination of the quick, 
I am the Creator moving through the mesh of life, 
vibrating the fresco with apple green and rose magenta.

In this terrible ecstasy of the consciousness that I am life!
In this miracle of seraphic Matrix that I, the larva demands evolve!
Swelling mankind like a Dahlia bud to bring forth the fruit of a dream,
decorating white fairytales with the wings of perennial petals.
Oh the terror of lifting the innermost shadows,
as she stares at me shamelessly in awkward hours,
then I step out to embrace her,
and she, my eternal fair maiden,  
breaking out the cocoon of this impulsive life,  
And striving to catch a glimpse of the shape of our coming dream.
The new dream painted in beauty, beloved and soft-toned,
Alluring my eyes;
for I, am I not also the love-lorn nightingale,
Am I not quickening, diffusing myself in moonbeam's dallying regale, 
blessed with the genius of Michelangelo,
carving and sharpening the ice marble,
I'd set my angel free!

27 thoughts on “Metamorphosis

    1. Thank you so much, Michele!💕
      No, I haven’t had a chance to attempt the story writing… too many ballet classes to teach on Zoom, some dance research papers to write, and too much leisure time spent in ‘forest bathing’ recently😅
      Nevertheless, I’m taking your lovely suggestion as my bright path down the road!🥳🥰

      Liked by 1 person

      1. You are welcome sweet Annabel. You are busy doing wonderful and inspiring things. 🥰 Keep us the great work. When and if it feels right, I believe you would write beautiful prose. 💖 Enjoy your day!

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Million thanks to your charming words, dear Michele!💕 I truly appreciate the encouragement, esp from such an experienced and published remarkable poetess like you🙏🥳

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Your kind words alone made my day!🙏🥰 Bringing forth the unlived life into daylight and understanding the self is perhaps the greatest hidden hunger of mankind.
      Many thanks for your support!🙏🥂

      Liked by 1 person

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    Liked by 1 person

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