I was never a spy
in your house of love
rather here
in this room of death
where the heirs
have carboard ears
filled with
amplified whispers
circulating orbs
flickering light
reflects
I hold a wake
beside emptied
dark green bottles
eros still rattles
our broken bones
hisses through
absinthine ash
you are my martyr
I have become
a shrined concubine
dancing tightropes
towards the music
of his knuckles
each origami pattern
violet violence
brings turmeric
twilight
where we mimed our love
gestating beech mothers
hold out their arms
if we close our eyes
how then can pain
ask for forgiveness
praying mantis
I ask of you
upon each tendril
trauma escapes
we will never learn
to trust an eagle
how to listen
through the antlers
of
a
deer
-
Author:
Mourgana of the Fey (
Offline) - Published: April 22nd, 2025 02:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
Ah metaphor following metaphor in this poem it reads mysteriously and we untangle the thread finding meaning in each knot. Very nicely worded even without the meaning the mere sound of each word evokes feeling. Very nice.
Thank you Soren for sharing your reflections and insights on this poem, highly appreciated!
I truly love your imagery, Rian! It is second to none, really. "absinthine ash". I mean, wow! Brilliant poem. Another fave. 🌹👏
That is such a huge compliment coming from you Tristan, I like to weave word webs some darker than others. Have a lovely day my friend!
You are most welcome, my friend. You too!
BRAVO
Thank you much Tony! Glad you liked this piece!!
You're welcome
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