Play, play with shapes...
Pöttyök / Dots
One Sunday, I waited
. With flowers
in my arms, for the grief I'd created
. I waited 'til dreams like
my heart were all broken.
The flowers were all dead and the words were unspoken.
The grief that
I knew was beyond all consoling.
The beat of my heart was a bell that was tolling.
Saddest of Sundays.
Then came the Sunday when you came to find me.
They brought me to church and I left you behind
My eyes would not see what I wanted to love me.
The earth and the flowers of the lover above
me. The bell tolled for me and the wind whispered 'never'.
But you I have loved and I bless you forever
Last of all Sundays
. by Diamanda Galas