Echoes of Paris

I pushed through the splintered door- weathered from centuries of rain and neglect, that never seem to relent. The smell of Frankincense and Myrrh lingered, cutting through the damp chill and deafening silence echoing across the room…

The day, beginning its end,
Poured through the stained glass.
Drowning out images of sin,
And my redemption.

Flooding the room with gold,
Holding the shadows at bay.
Forcing my eyes to close.
And your resurrection.

paris.girl.                                             
                                                   * Painting by Emanuel M. Ologeanu
                                                         

 

* Painting by Emanuel M. Ologeanu

 

 

 

 

 

12 thoughts on “Echoes of Paris

    • I suppose when we get to a certain point in our lives, such things will always have a twinge of sadness or nostalgia. But the beauty is always there, isn’t it, waiting for us to remember what it was like “before”- when we could still see the magic in it all, relish in the mystery of things yet to be discovered….before we knew what sadness and nostalgia really felt like.
      But the beauty is still there. Isn’t it? (and that’s not meant to be rhetorical…at least not today.)
      And did you seriously just come up with that?!! Just a lil’ “maybe I’ll just add a few lines as a sign-off” that always leave me blown away.
      “And my heart dips to catch it.” Okay, Mr. Robbins (Tom, that is), you just keep doing what you do and we’ll all keep watching/reading in awe. 😉

      Liked by 2 people

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