Tecelã de Sonhos - Poesia D'água

Isn't it Holy?

II. second version

i.

remember that day
in july, when winter had already begun
the mist wrapped the trees in white
and the sun didn't bother to come out
i said "look at the flowers!
there's frost on their fragile petals" - the dew had become ice,
yet it shone as if bathed
directly in liquid light,
and it melted with the warmth of your pale hands,
slowly, lightly - until the petals were free from their little cage.

ii.

isn't a winter day, filled with winter blessings,
the purest form of holiness?
that day seemed as a ghost - mostly white and eerie,
forgotten among other times.
but in a way, still present,
at least for me - i still keep those frosty petals, dearly on my heart.

iii.

there's a veil between me and the world,
but i'm still not lonely
i may one day be - when the longing nights turn to golden
when the niveous winds become warmer,
but i'll still have my pen and paper
so night and winter, will always be
with me.

iv.

and isn't it holy, too
to dedicate yourself
and worship what is most dear to you?
i certainly feel as a servant close to a god i can almost touch.
to feel loved and love so intensely
you have to write, and write endlessly,
perhaps about the same thing, over and over,
until reaching the bottom of a pit
embedded in the faith of longing,
grasping for another word to turn golden,
into a hymn of immaculate, heart-weaved verse.

as i, in every poem
turn winter into a haven of bright memories
and translate those little petals
into immortalized poetry,
with crimson-stained, sweet-worded love.

it is a hymn as much as it is an obsession
- but isn't it holy?