Panonhalma
Panonhalma
Oh crystal blue chemistry
the flames cook under spoon
the sulfur smell of matches.
On my monastic pilgrimage to Panonhalma,
the butterflies companied my walk up the hill.
It was a good omen.
Some were sulfur yellow,
the nectar crystal blue.
I know what they did that day,
playing hooky with their buddies.
I offer them cigarettes but they flew away.
Before that they were bland moths.
Now they are dangerous with their beauty,
shimmering caliper wings that makes me
ache for my own.
That’s why I left everyone, to hide in this hill walking towards the abbey, the sweat pouring on a long hot summer
Sacred day on hallow grounds.
Oh crystal blue chemistry
the flames cook under spoon
the sulfur smell of matches.
On my monastic pilgrimage to Panonhalma,
the butterflies companied my walk up the hill.
It was a good omen.
Some were sulfur yellow,
the nectar crystal blue.
I know what they did that day,
playing hooky with their buddies.
I offer them cigarettes but they flew away.
Before that they were bland moths.
Now they are dangerous with their beauty,
shimmering caliper wings that makes me
ache for my own.
That’s why I left everyone, to hide in this hill walking towards the abbey, the sweat pouring on a long hot summer
Sacred day on hallow grounds.
Posts
