Autumn In The Heart

If you have autumn in your heart, blessed soul,
the morning star foretells rain of memories here.
Highlights and shadows – an ontological being.
I’m curious about your paths, your ethical emotions.
If the heart breaks the ice of memory,
the heart becomes full of charm or breath.
Sparks as if from a rainbow, a wonderful eternal hue.
They fly with a flicker towards eternity – like a raft,
over the sea of existence or forgetting,
like a nymph drunk on my noble dew.
Autumn in the heart is also an elusive dawn.
Autumn guided before Hades’ throne.
On Apollo’s wings shines the fiery weapon.
Dreams of tomorrow – enchanted by melancholy.
Be the enchanted ambrosia of eternity.
Hey! Morning star, you are like a romantic star.
Be a paradise for poets, rustling like willow.
The dawn of tomorrow, and forgotten yesterday.
Today’s moment wears a crown of thorns.
Autumn oaks have also borne acorns.
The sailor of eternity enchants fantasy.
On the wings of ballads above Hades’ realm,
a vulture asks for a cup of rosy juice.
Autumn dreams of the heart, of eternal tear beings,
of your wonderful emotions above the moon.
In the land of rainbows, you are so spiritual.
Measured by no human miracles.
The autumn wind carries the laurel – Zeus’s eternity.
Old trees foretell scarlet nobility.
Mossy monuments, ancient cemeteries,
tempests and autumn’s forgotten dawns.
In an autumn leaf dwells the eternal god-spirit.
More passionate than the primal lyrical king of Alders.
Eternal autumn and everlasting winds.
I adore their druidic blissful songs.
At an Epicurean wedding, an elf dances.
Autumn rain moistens Plato’s cave.
Stoics and skeptics honor the glow with dignity.
I love the dreaminess of the master from the dawns, from the stars.
The Ionian philosopher worships the inspiration of the violet.
Nature seeks tender soul’s respite.
I offer an altar to druids in autumn.
The Slavic graveyard has a muse today.
The autumn muse can long for tenderly,
like a mummy in a museum on your foreign land.
In the silver sky, covered with Kant’s star,
I see today a crimson spirit.
If you have autumn in your heart – that which loves.
Magical doors open widely today.
Enter my world-myth full of fulfilled poetry.
Where the morning star shines, neighs, flickers.
But if an Epicurean gives you a ring,
give it to the hermit – he who is called autumn.
The autumn mood is not just fantasy.
It is also a calling and the crow’s song,
which knows what and where to seek in the fog of the cemetery.
Charmed sparrow of the day’s mystery!
You sip autumn rain, like a hummingbird’s nectar.
The muse of poems is filled with ambrosia.
I adore her garden, called proud star.
On horseback, I want to admire the world of Nietzsche.
Clouds of night and the breath of the noble.
I want to be the guide of the perfect muse,
the charioteer through worlds of pure fantasy.
To the stars, there’s only one road leading
above the clouds of dreams – a rainbow shines instead.
Alpheus and Arethusa love the grove too.
Piglets have come into the world, in the glade – there.
The owl in love with Athene is being carried.
The piglet of Artemis sits in the glade – too.