Phoenix's coma

Florin Dragoș Minculescu

It looks like,

Blood is warming just minds,

And thought is bruising The Soul.

Nails are clenching us,

And air scratches the lungs.

 

It looks like,

We've gotten on misleading.

Our way of flying,

Is leading to a fallen star.

The Virgo is violently stretched.

 

It looks like,

Burns spread to organs,

Breath smells of brimstone.

A cold light shines through the eyes

And colors get nuances of gray.

 

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Comments +

Comments1

  • L. B. Mek

    what a profound write, dear Poet
    and I humbly thank you
    for inspiring these words as reply, below:
    (rear-view mirror, warped imagery
    regret, greying out
    our mementos of life's, once cherished moments;
    instead, we seek shelter
    in the shadows of our muddy thought's
    all-grim, as our appeal
    for without hope, we stay immune
    to disappointment
    and Time's, thieving plague
    so labouring, to keep its all decayed and grey
    in our past
    we wage a path forward, one
    shaky step
    at a time
    allowing no merit to Spring's horizons, of life
    we tape our visions, so only Autumn and Winter
    appear as tangible, future's..
    then we lament, this nihilistic surrender
    of placebo: living!)



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