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“3 A.M. SAINTS
It is 3 a.m. again
and you are showing me all of your sins
by holding up your scars to the starless sky.
Painting the entire universe with gold
and clothing my velvet heart in purple -
we become saints within
those unholy hours close to dawn.
Still, the world is spinning -
even though it feels a little slower now -
while the silence carries us away
into the next day.”
― Laura Chouette

“VALLEY
The valleys climb towards the sky in the early morning hours - seeking horizon's lines;
More than the gravestones do with all the memory lined neatly up and half-forgotten - nearly washed away.
Our sun is doomed to meet both.”
― Laura Chouette

“A SIMPLE DRAFT
Sometimes a simple draft
can make a poet whole
that is left with half a heart
and feelings for a hundred
it would take to bear.
A few words can cover
the whole world,
creating light for the darkest of lines
one can call a home or paradise -
only a few can also lay bare their soul.”
― Laura Chouette

“CONFESSION
Sometimes
I feel like the lines of mine
are in the way of every love
that tries to cross the last bridge
I have left leading to my heart.
For I burned every other one
while numbing the wounds
the fire caused -
setting alight to all that is left of me.
I must admit
that I kept on to the match,
long after it burned down
and reached my fingertips.”
― Laura Chouette

“BLOOMING SCARS
Those flowers dance around vour marble bust like they were fearing October's kiss - gently they laugh and fall asleep on vour stone veins and cold lips.
For they love their names written upon your chest in
gold
for your heart may be broken, yet it is searching for something untold.
They do not know that silver mends the scars that the years formed and the cracks on your skin the sun caused -
so silent, still, and weary are the blossoms with whom my love for you is betrothed.”
― Laura Chouette

“STARVING PIECES
A heart starved of love will break itself
and shed the pieces quickly - so it has less to feed with love.”
― Laura Chouette

“EDINBURGH
Sombre echoes
that mark the dawning
that is greying on the hills;
the steep streets still wet from rain
the small buildings look emptier with
each day passing on;
thoughts are done
passing rounds -
counting circles
inside my head.
pale faces of familiar strangers
crossing me on the way back
to a place that used to feel like home -
falling back in time.”
― Laura Chouette

“CHURCH WINDOWS ARE MY MIRRORS
Blessed are the scars and the holiness of our hearts.
Only saints break it without remorse for sinners, I expect nothing else but playing their part with our gentle soul.
Church windows are my mirrors and prayers my gate to heavens end - I find everything by losing myself-nothing was ever lost from the beginning.”
― Laura Chouette

“AMBER HEART'S
Amber chases the night sky
like the stars became fire and gold -
and the moon is falling ever closer
to the sun he loves so much;
So there is not much pain
with the world to share,
yet we begin to doubt our love
and forget our hearts need care.
Still, we wish upon the stars
to fall faster in love than we did out,
so we won't try and pull back
for broken hearts are heavy and hard to catch.
So while the constellations fade
and our souls disappear in their entanglement
we hope to learn what it means
to truly live again the least.”
― Laura Chouette

“QUIET WRITING
Quiet
does not mean
that we have nothing to say,
or that we leak the power of speech -
we rise up and tell our truths
even if it feels like people don't like it the least;
Writing
is our means
to have something to tell
when we lost our voice suddenly
we still stand behind our truths
even if it feels like people
won't like it.
Beautifully
are the quiet lines
written with thunder
and silent boldness -
for we can have a revolution
inside the pages of nowadays.”
― Laura Chouette

“THE ART OF EVERYONE
And autumn died long before the sun touched the last leaf;
for death forgets every winter for as long as summer blossoms for itself;
For the art of everyone is close to the idea and dwells in thoughts.
For every thought rises in the morning - and every beginning
is the closest to us in the end, and eventually takes
a lifetime to complete itself.”
― Laura Chouette

“I can not kiss you
unless you unraveled
every line of my heart
and declared with your lips
the beauty of our unfading love.”
― Laura Chouette

“Autumn sharpens the night air
and paints the morning gold
on the edge of winter’s silver breath,
dancing delicately between life and death,
between 4 pm and 3 am.”
― Laura Chouette

“At a certain point,
you no longer hope;
you just keep on existing.
One day at a time,
for the rest of your life.

And that feeling
is not shallow but runs deep�
deeper than any happiness
or love could ever run.

A vein is a mere line
poets like me used to write on
and a lifeline where sailors
swim towards at night.

If we keep on writing and giving,
we grow on that existing line
with millions of words that save hope -
and thus give existence and life.”
― Laura Chouette

“OCTOBER MORNINGS
How your eyes gleamed like emeralds once autumn's first day arrived, how amber was the glance that met my tired eyes.
Like silk was the light of morning that came through half-shut doors and made a line of gold upon our bedroom floor.
Silent creeks
empty hallways full of doubt, the room is empty now.”
― Laura Chouette

“And autumn died long before the sun touched the last leaf;
for death forgets every winter for as long as summer blossoms for itself;
For the art of everyone is close to the idea and dwells in thoughts.
For every thought rises in the morning - and every beginning
is the closest to us in the end, and eventually takes
a lifetime to complete itself.”
― Laura Chouette

“THE SHEETS & THE LIGHT
Sombre echoes
that mark the dawning greying on the hill;
the steep streets still wet from rain the small buildings look emptier with each day passing on;
Thoughts are done passing rounds counting circles inside my head.
Pale mirror-faces
crossing me on the way back to the place that felt like home - falling back in time.”
― Laura Chouette

“COLOURS IN THE MIRROR
One day my pride will outlive myself and whatever remains of its colours will be remembered by others - for I was always my true self.
I live too little for things that make me dream & care too much for fears that sleep in between the fine lines of my weary mind - so write me gentle words, for it may break.
My diversity should not be a mistake but a celebration of identity & guiding light to others who ache to leave the numbness of »pretending-to-be«.
We are not broken mirrors that hurt the world by showing our true reflection;
we are merely hearts used to rejection - yet, their words will only blur but not break our shine.”
― Laura Chouette

“ATHENA
They fall silently.
the steps of her arrival - crossing snow so pale even the morning sky would fade into nightfall's amber;
For she has entered the palace of gold - her hair braided with hope and tainted with red leaves
which colours remind of a hanged man's rope - for her name is war
and her crown is crafted out of grief.”
― Laura Chouette

“CROSSROAD
Lights flicker above the crossroad shining in green now and then for people who won't cross and red for others - which won't stop;
The dull grey splits the city in pieces of lines and corners, sometimes outshined by heavy rain and flooded glimpses of chaos;
Broken glass upon crimson roads empty silence and nothing to say - while the city sleeps on and will awake, eventually.”
― Laura Chouette

“PIECES OF LIGHT
I see the art of each heart reflecting the mirror
that the world put it in front of - for so long that the lines so once so clear became hate for everything we see - blurring out the real;
Seeing a thousand lights reflecting one's own means nothing anymore, now that we live by the one offered by the world;
The price of being a small part of everyone's standard is being praised so, we may break into one single piece.”
― Laura Chouette

“ASBOLUTION
Our paradise is not made out of worldly things but of the broken fragments of heaven - laced with doubt and forgiveness;
Nearly silent we promise each other absolutisation for every promise we ever dared to make with words and deeds - yet I feel incomplete.”
― Laura Chouette

“WEDNESDAY MIRAGE
How far do they reach the rivers of our grieve - far beyond the horizon and deep into a soul;
Suffering can feel like drowning in numbness and being awake for days;
It's roots growing further then our mind can go and make dark a heart that once was full of light;”
― Laura Chouette

“THE MEADOWS OF MEDEA
'The meadows lay weeping with tears like an emerald's gleam; while every nightingale is seeking the shelter of its only willow's green.
And silently,
my step falls on leaves
that carry me much further than I'd dream; for willows and thoughts are fading slowly while everything eternal is not seen - and yet they keep
so many of us in good company - for some can not be on their own, nor can they be free.
So I found peace,
the one eternal each one seeks
and so I left my soul for emerald's gleam; while the meadows still lay weeping with grief over my grave so quietly for it lays beneath the shadow of its only willow's green.”
― Laura Chouette

“OUR OLYMP
At this altitude of wavering faith and dying stars our love could not stand a chance;
it disappears slowly within my rhymes sky.
Fading along the pale darkness like a path of crumbling anecdotes on old crumpled philosophers' notes.
I can not see the moon anymore - neither I can imagine the place where it should rest tonight
in the sky of ours, where it used to be so bright.
The Gods themselves dare not make a home at this height of our hearts, for even the immortals would refuse to hold sacred a place so high.
Even our wishes refuse to fall at the mountains feet, still climbing, trembling, and slowly loosing
- defeat.”
― Laura Chouette

“FLORENCE
Soft emerald valleys lay in crimson light beneath the rolling hills;
the waters of the Arno gleam like bronze the city's vein, so still.
Each artist at the shore of the river stares in wonder and delight - how far do the lines reach across the bridge, beyond their work?
One may seek rest under the cypresses and soft light of the August amber sun - here, at his grave, the city walls lay high around the garden, he knew once as paradise.
His dark eyes still seem to pierce the lines of the hills,
like he searches for his soul - still;
(somewhere between the Arno and the nightfall).
The trees - heavily laid with summer's fruit - stand high above the city in marble glance.
Clear is now the dark sky - full of shards which dreamers call the stars.”
― Laura Chouette

“THE MONSTER & THE MAN
One obstacle pierces his soul and calls him down the dark road - heavy sighing he must carry on and at last, the thorn is retrieved
- with agony in his brown eyes - he suddenly sees:
Fever dreams, scarlet on blue velvet, like ink drowning in words - words drowning inside his veins - words that pleaded in vain - words so scarlet... so stained.
Empty lines for empty souls that carry too much inside; empty pages for empty hands with nothing else to hide
nor to control the beast inside his soul.”
― Laura Chouette

“THE BALLADE OF SUMMER'S FALL
Hues of pale green, on delicate olive branches the soft rustling of somberness along the fields of gold that lay themselves to gentle rest after another long summer.
I have nothing to bury under them
except my own heart -that is my soul's greatest regret, once my lines begin to fill in autumn, under the velvet gloom of shortening days.
The admiration of the Florentine sun had doomed my words to become eventually a remembrance once September falls in October's pale hands.
I shall have nothing to grieve for
once the winter arrives, coming over the distant hills and laying bare the orchards along his way.
I doomed them to become ruins by overthinking, hoping - at least once too often - for change;
So, let it be then.
I will mourn my mere passion for life in the presence of death - though my art may be eternal.”
― Laura Chouette

“In one's ordinary life, there must always be a place for something exceptional, like poetry... or love.”
― Laura Chouette

“In one's ordinary life, there must always be a place for poetry.”
― Laura Chouette